Liquid Sunshine
by marybellesecrets
Summary: Selena was an ordinary woman – a nurse from Oregon with two loving parents, a crazy sister, and a bridezilla best friend. That is, until she's attacked by angels and demons, attempting her capture for being the reincarnation of Michael and Lucifer's lost love. Saved by Castiel, she's taken refuge with the Winchesters, where unwelcome feelings emerge from all. Dean vs Sam vs Castiel
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Liquid Sunshine

**Chapter Title: **An Approaching Storm

**Summary**: In the moments of her birth, not a single person in the entire world died. Those within a fifty mile radius of her birth suffering from illness, terminal or otherwise, were healed. The blind were given sight, the deaf hearing, and the mute voices. Those who suffered from handicaps were healed – the paralyzed could move, the comatose awoke, and the mentally ill cured. It was known to the town as the Miracle Moment, but to the angels, it was known as prophecy. Meet Selena Swan – weakness to heaven and hell alike. Dean vs. Castiel vs. Sam.

**Story Rating**: M for language, sexual content and violence.

**Chapter Rating**: T

**Author's Note**: Follow this story on Tumblr, where I'll post updates, pictures and sometimes spoilers. Feel free to ask me any questions, and please review – they make my day. :-)

**Prologue: An Approaching Storm**

*Selena's Point of View*

It was well past midnight, and even as deep into the country as we were, I couldn't see a single star. The moon and all its shining children masked by dark, angry clouds, circling the sky above us. How similar it seemed our lives were to this troubled sky – something beautiful, something _meaningful_, is there. We all know it's _right_ _there. _But it's hidden, cast away under a fearsome, approaching storm.

A gust of wind carried a wave of dried leaves past me, the icy air stinging my bear arms. I cherished the feeling – these days, it seemed like I wasn't _allowed_ the feel anything. Here, alone, finally left with my feelings, these swirling emotions raging inside – it was like a flood, and the wall holding these massive waves at bay was falling apart – crumbling to miserable, pathetic pieces – and here I stood, desperately shoveling buckets of water back into this ocean, knowing that it will all come back to hit me eventually. It was just a matter of time.

_Dean. _He was the tsunami: a fierce, unstoppable wave. The one crashing down on me. I was drowning in him – _all_ of him. The way he kept his head high and kept fighting, even though it was tragically obvious that he was broken warrior. The way he kept the mood light, encouraged laughter with his little jokes and sly sarcasm; his sheer bravery – the way he stood tall in the face of danger, how he faced his darkest fears without so much as a second thought; the way his lips curve in a crooked smile when he laughs, and how his eyes give truth to all his hidden, buried sentiments. But mostly, the way that no matter how hard he tries, his hard shell can never be as strong as his soft heart.

_Castiel. _He was the sea. Trying to pull the wave back, but only making it stronger, making it build. Intense, beautiful, and powerful, he calls me to him. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel drawn to him, feel the pull of his unwavering will, his true faith, his pure heart. However limited, I know Castiel would never let anything happen to me. My guardian angel – there's something magical about that connection, and I can't deny complexity of the feelings that come with that bond. But there _are _feelings, no matter how much we wish there weren't.

_Sam. _He was the rain. He crashed around me, soaking into me. How badly I wished I could feel the same way as he felt for me, how much I wished Sam could be _the one, _because unlike everyone else, Sam would _try. _Hell, he _does_ try. He would always be kind to me, listen to what I say and think heavily on each word; he would do his best to make me happy each waking moment of my short life; he would hold me each night until I fell asleep and with utter resolve, despite the danger, because he _understands. _He understands that happiness is more important than survival. But alas, the rain cannot match the power of a tsunami, nor the vastness of the sea, and as much as I wish as I could swim in the rain, all I can see is the tsunami barreling towards me – and I invite it.

_Michal and Lucifer. _They were like the thunder and lightning, noisily howling and crashing down around me for attention undeserved. Thank goodness the sky seems so far away – their ill-fated attempts at my affection may be noisy and unstoppable, but they remain untouched and ineffective. For the life of me, I can't understand how I could've loved them in a past life – how any version of me could care for those childish bastards.

Another gust of wind prickled my arms, causing goose bumps to rise. I wrapped myself in a hug, rubbing my forearms in a futile attempt to warm myself from the chilling night air. Suddenly, a familiar heavy coat was draped over my shoulders, warming me instantaneously. It carried with it the familiar sent of old leather, whiskey and pine.

"Dean." It came out like a breath, a whisper-gasp that carried with the breeze, and _oh, _how wonderful it tasted on my lips.

"You've been out here for a while," he observed, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't look at me, something he'd been doing a lot lately, it seemed. Does he think avoiding me will make all of this – everything between us – go away? "You should come in before you get sick."

He turned to go back inside, and urgently I reached out for him, grabbing his wrist. My touch was light, but he froze like I had an iron grasp. His entire body when visibly rigid, and I almost immediately regretted the action. But however stubbornly, I kept my light hold. "Look at me," I said, but it came out sounding more like a whimper. "Dean – can we please talk about this?"

Still refusing to face me, his eyes fixed on a small patch of dried grass at his feet, he replied, curtly, "There's nothing to talk about."

"Bullshit," I barked, stepping closer to him. I could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, and, _oh, _how desperately I wanted to encase myself in it. In _him. _"Dean – "

"Stop," he ordered, but his voice was weak, tired. He shrugged my hand off his wrist, eyes averted to the side. "Damn it, Selena," he cursed, more to himself than to me. My heart sank – could this be it? Drowning in him – would I sink or swim? Would he pull me under, or carry me through? His voice, his aversion, his _rejection, _it cursed me into the abyss.

He scratched the back of his neck and took a deep, prolonged breath. Finally his eyes met mine, and the moment they did, I wished they hadn't. Those electric eyes of his, whirling with untold conflictions we both knew to be true. There was pain, worry, and so much _doubt. _

"We can't_._" he said, his voice sounding so strained – he didn't believe it, either. He couldn't.

He reached forward, his rough, calloused finger tips brushing against my cheek, pulling a strand of hair behind my ear. Pausing, he cupped my face, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip. He was fighting himself – I could see his internal conflict, his inner dialogue rabidly battling it out. He looked so damn torn – what he _wanted_ and what he _knew_.

That had to be the main difference between us. More than anything, he wanted me safe. I knew that, and I wished to hell I could respect that, but it all seems so futile, so worthless, if I can't have _him_. Dead or alive – who cares? Happiness will _always_ be more important than security. I just wished to hell he felt the same way…

His touch was warm and light, sending a familiar, welcomed feeling into the pit of my stomach, where an explosion of butterflies erupted and expanded immensely. Stepping closer, our bodies brushed against each other. "We _can't,_" he repeated, desperately, his eyes closing.

Slowly leaning down, I could feel his hot breath brush my lips. My heart instantly trashed wildly in my chest, beating so loudly I could hear it's insane rhythm echo in my ear drums. Blood pumping, lips closing in, I reached for him, _this is it. _

But suddenly he stopped, frozen in place, then quickly pulled away, his hand falling from my face, and with it, my breaking heart. I felt the air leave my lungs, and a sour knot form in my stomach – butterflies gone and died. _I'm sinking. _

"You're right," Dean said, quietly, almost like a whisper. "We do need to talk about this." Taking a deep breath, I tried to settle my breaking heart. I don't want to talk anymore. I want to go back to avoiding him, back to subtle, questionable rejection, not this _certainty_. After a slight pause, "I love you, Selena." He said, conviction ringing in his tone, throwing my entire world upside down. Head spinning, he adds, "And that's exactly why I _cannot _let this happen."

With that, he brushed past me, heading back inside, leaving me there, head whirling, heart throbbing, world shattering…

_But… I love you, too. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Liquid Sunshine

**Chapter Title: **Fight and Flight

**Summary**: In the moments of her birth, not a single person in the entire world died. Those within a fifty mile radius of her birth suffering from illness, terminal or otherwise, were healed. The blind were given sight, the deaf hearing, and the mute voices. Those who suffered from handicaps were healed – the paralyzed could move, the comatose awoke, and the mentally ill cured. It was known to the town as the Miracle Moment, but to the angels, it was known as prophecy. Meet Selena Swan – weakness to heaven and hell alike. Dean vs. Castiel vs. Sam.

**Story Rating**: M for language, sexual content and violence.

**Chapter Rating**: M for violence and language.

*Selena's POV*

_Why do I have so many damn key chains? _Fiddling with my mess of jingling objects, I finally recognize the small orange key assigned to this door. Once upon a time I thought getting colorful keys would make

them stand out, and thus be easier to identify in the chaos that is my key ring, but that system has long since failed, because hunting for one color, in a million others, with many similar colors, is equally as frustrating.

Once inside, I turn and snap the dead bolt shut, trying to decide which little objects to remove. There's the little plastic bird that I got from the family vacation to Costa Rica a few years ago, carrying very fond memories of the beautiful wild life we saw on our family expeditions– hiking, particularly, but snorkeling was a lot of fun, too. Deciding that one should stay, I flip to the next – a little smooth army tag, not a real one, but it looked very similar – it was made and personally engraved by my father, given to me on my 16th birthday, a week before his deployment to Iraq. It read, in sloppy block letters, "Be Strong, Little Lena." Considering that tag helped me through some of the hardest moments of my life, I quickly concluded that one must stay, too.

The next was a gift from my best friend since first grade – Anna Locke. It was a string of colorful little charms – a shoe to represent our "Cinderella-Phase" as little kids, a rhinestone to represent our "Fashion-Phase" as pre-teens, and a shopping bag to represent our "Shopaholic-Phase" as teenagers. Then followed a lock and key to represent the secrets we've kept, a wine bottle for our crazy college days, and a medical cross to represent our chosen career field – both nurses, working at the same hospital for the last four years. That _definitely _had to stay.

Then there was a miniature gambling chip, there to remind me to stay away from the slots. In college, I nearly gambled away my entire tuition, and successfully launched my parents deep into debt. I ended up in a lot of trouble with some bad people who I borrowed money from, and did a lot of things I'm not proud of to pay them back.

_Who am I kidding? _I toss the keys back into my purse not bothering to look through the rest. All of them held a certain, special memory or reminder that I wanted to constantly carry around with me. No matter how picky I wanted to be, I wouldn't end up taking any of them off. What's an extra five minutes looking for my keys at the door, anyway?

Walking into my room, I spot my morbidly obese cat, lounging on my pillow. "Albert," I scold, "You know you're not supposed to be on the pillows." His fluffy orange face doesn't even twitch expression in response. After a moment of pause, he blinks. I clap my hands at him, making a hissing sound for him to move. He seems rather unaffected, then narrows his eyes at me, and lazily climbs off the pillow. His fat stomach sloshes with each step, so round that part of it drags on the floor because his legs are too short for his giant body.

Yawning loudly, I flop down onto my bed and toss my purse on the floor, ignoring my cat's obvious irritation with me. Today was _long. _I was working ER, which was always _lovely, _but in the last three hours of my shift, there had been a ten car pile-up on the freeway. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if they called me back in a few hours, asking me to come back in.

With that in mind, I strip myself of my scrubs and throw on a pair of my comfiest pajamas – flannel blue pants and a white tank with a picture of the Smurfs – and head to brush my teeth. Half way to the bathroom, there's a knock at the door. I glance at the clock on my bedside table: _11:53 p.m. _Albert meows from the kitchen, something he usually did when there was knocking.

Hesitantly I head to the door, wondering who could be coming over so late. Looking out the peep hole, I'm even more surprised to find five people standing outside: two women, three men, ages ranging from twenty to sixty. They didn't look like they belonged together at all – one girl looked like a complete junkie, while another older woman looked like a Betty Crocker double. There was a flamboyantly dressed young man in neon, an older man in a sharp grey suit, and a rather fat, greasy-looking man with Dorito stains on his white beater. They all stood there with impeccable posture, eyes on the door intensely. "Um… who is it?" I say through the door.

_BAM! _One of them slammed into the door, nearly breaking it down. I scream, shocked by this action, and run back to my bedroom. Another crash, this time echoing in a cracking, splintering sound, and I know they're inside, just in time for me to lock my bedroom door. I shove my book case in front of it, then my desk, and stack other random things in front, praying to god it will slow them down. Heart pounding, I look desperately around me for something to fight off my intruders. _What the hell?!_

They're slamming against the door like rabid dogs. _Cell phone! _The first clear thought I've had, other than how completely scared I am. My breathing is labored, blood pumping through my ears, I feel like my body is on fire in fear and pure reaction. _BAM! _A fist crashes through the middle of my door, and pushes on the bookcase. _Holy shit! _I grab my purse and run for my bathroom, locking the door behind me. I lean my body against it, and dig through my purse for my phone. My hands are shaking, making it entirely too difficult to function under this terror.

Finally I find it, and dial 911. "_911, what's your emergency?_"

"There are people in my house!" I cry, my voice cracking. Tears pour from my eyes, blurring my vision. "They just bust through the door – they're insane!"

"_How many people are there, ma'am?" _her voice is so calm, it's almost irritatingly anticlimactic for the situation at hand.

The question is so simple, but my mind is so frantic I can't hardly think, "F-Five," I say, trying to focus, "Five, I think." There's a crash in the bedroom, and I know then that they're inside my room now. "Oh god, they're in my room!" I relay to the hotline woman.

"_I've got officers on the way, ma'am. Stay with me." _

I shut my eyes, trying to block their insane pounding and scratching at the bathroom door. If they could beat my dead bolt no problem, then my bookcase and desk, then my 125lbs. body against this door wasn't going to be anything for them – _they're going to kill me. _

Something grabs my arms. My eyes shoot open, and I shriek in panic. It was a man, but a different man – not one from before. He lifts me from the ground and shoves me into the bath tub as I struggle against him. His hold is _so strong. _"Stop," he orders, his voice smooth but commanding. I do. "Stay behind me." He tells me, and I'm completely confused_. Is he protecting me?_ I wonder, _and where did he come from_?

He had dark hair, tossed like he hadn't brushed it in a while, and striking blue eyes. He wasn't unbelievably tall or muscular, although his body was very square, and he did stand a good two or three inches above me, but he spilled the essence of strength and resolve. His shoulders were broad, his stance straight. He was waiting – _CRASH! _

The crazed strangers flooded in, and as terrifying as this fact was alone, their _eyes _chilled me to the core. They were completely black, corner to corner. Even though I was expecting them, I still screamed, backing further into the tub, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. The trench coated man landed a firm fist into the Betty Crocker lady, then placed two strong hands on the junkie and the fat man. A bright light spilled from their eyes and mouth, and in an agonizing scream, they fell to the ground – dead.

My heart seemed to stop, my breath hitched in my throat. _What was happening? Why did they have black eyes? What was that insane white light? Who was the man fighting them off? Why do they want to hurt me?_

Still flooding in, the man in the suit grabbed the trench coated man from behind, while the flamboyantly dressed man rushed towards me. He had only grabbed my arm before my savior had gripped his head from behind. Staring straight at him, I watched his eyes burn from their sockets in a blinding white light, then fall. The sight was absolutely horrifying – _what the __**fuck**__ is going on? _

Suddenly, a feathery whisk sound granted the situation two more men, one in suit, the other in a Costco uniform. The one suit gripped the last black eyed stranger, filling him with light until he fell. There was a quiet standoff, perhaps more intense than the fighting. The man in the suit and the man in the Costco uniform were clearly together, facing against the panting, trench coated man. All three pulled silver, angular blades to their sides. Honestly, they look more like toys than weapons, but there was a vicious hum in the air, a power that prickled my skin and made the small hairs on my neck stand on end, and it was the blades.

"Let us take the girl, Castiel," said the man in the suit. He had kind eyes, his but his body was rigid, expecting a fight. I went completely stiff, looking for his answer. What did they want with me, and why was he protecting me?

The trench coated man, Castiel, shook his head, "I cannot do that, brother," he replied, firmness in his voice. He was standing his ground.

"Think about what you're doing, Castiel," pleaded the man in the Costco uniform, "You have defied heaven already, and you stand against Lucifer alone. You do _not _want to personally offend Michal, too."

"I appreciate your concern, Dangel, but not Lucifer nor Michal would dare move against me if I have her." Castiel replied, lifting his blade. "Retreat now, brothers. I don't want to kill you." _Wait. So Castiel wasn't trying to save me? He's trying to take me for himself? _The entire conversation was completely ludacris. _Are they a cult_? I wonder, with this talk of defying heaven and Lucifer? But then, what was with those lights? And the strangers with the black eyes? There was more to this than crazy people.

The room started swaying, the strangers in front of me becoming unclear. _This is too much. _I thought, pathetically, trying to control myself. All of this is too overwhelming. "We could say the same to you," replied the man in the suit.

"Close your eyes!" shouted Castiel, and I did. The darkness welcomed me, and for a small moment, I felt like this was all a dream, and when I opened them, everyone would be gone – the dead, eyeless bodies littering my bedroom and bathroom, and the three strangers fighting over who would kidnap me. They would all be gone, and I would wake up with Albert on my pillow next to me.

But then the sound of struggle, a crashing sound, like someone had fallen, and a sharp sound followed by a yell of pain, and an explosion cleared any doubt – this was _real_. I waited for the second – who would come out on top? Who would be taking me? The entirety of this thought is completely overwhelming. _When there's only one left, _I thought, _I have to run. _

Finally another explosion. "You may open your eyes," rang a voice. _Castiel. _

I did, and what was before me was horrifying. In addition to the littered bodies of the murderous, rabid strangers, the man in the suit and the Costco man lay dead, eyes wide. But unlike the others, a shadow, almost like the residue of a dynamite, spread from their backs in the formation of massive wings along her walls, mirror and cabinet. _Run. _ I tell myself, but my legs are completely frozen in place, shocked by the sight before me. _Run. _

He reaches for me, and I instinctively flinch away, sinking into the bath tub. "W-What are you?" I'm finally able to ask.

Blue eyes blazing, locked with my own, he answers with certainty: "I'm an angel of the Lord." He then reaches forward, and unable to back away any further, I shut my eyes, trying to block everything out again. His fingertips brush my chest, then press hard. It sends a sensation unlike any other into my chest, like a knife carving into my breast bone – into my core. I yelp in pain, confused as to how his touch has such an effect. "You are hidden now," he tells me, as the pain fades. Before I could ask from what, he adds, "Now you have to come with me."

Wildly, I swat him away, adrenaline pumping, "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

He looks almost irritated with me, like I was some child throwing a tantrum, then reaches and firmly grasps my wrist. Another sensation fills me, but very unlike the other. It's not unpleasant, but it's certainly dizzying, like being pulled at unimaginable speed, but staying in the same space, floating. Again I yelp.

"Damn it, Cas!" shouts an unfamiliar voice, "I called you over an hour ago."

"I was occupied," Castiel replies.

My eyes connect with the stranger – he's tall, muscular, and rather rugged looking. He has short, light brown hair, and unbelievably clear green eyes. He wears five o'clock shadow on a sharp jaw, adding an undeniably sexy, masculine look. He sported dark jeans, and a dark t-shirt, covered by a plaid flannel, then again by a leather jacket.

I wonder how he got into my apartment so casually, and then realize I'm not in my apartment at all. A queen sized bed sits against pale walls, accompanied by a very standard night stand and bland lamp. Cream curtains offered nothing to the already dingy room, and stains along the carpet added a filthy effect. The only color to the room was a large poster of mountains and a stream, labeled Michigan's Finest.

_W-What the __**fuck. **_"I-I'm in M-Michigan!?"

"Correct," Castiel replied, shortly, finally releasing my wrist. I fell, clumsily, then crab crawled backwards away from him until my black collided with a wall.

"Who's this?" asked the stranger, casually, as if people appeared out of thin air all the _fucking _time!

I could hear them talking, but my mind was reeling. Again the room started spinning, this time almost violently so, and as my vision blurred and darkness overcame me, my last audible thought was, "_This can't be happening._"

***Author's Note: I hope you guys liked the first chapter. A lot has happened to normal little Selena, and it seems she's not coping well. But fret not – her life will quickly become more chaotic, unbearable, and even tragic. I'm going to tear this simple little character into a whole new woman! Muahaha!


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Liquid Sunshine

**Chapter Title: **Insanity

**Summary**: In the moments of her birth, not a single person in the entire world died. Those within a fifty mile radius of her birth suffering from illness, terminal or otherwise, were healed. The blind were given sight, the deaf hearing, and the mute voices. Those who suffered from handicaps were healed – the paralyzed could move, the comatose awoke, and the mentally ill cured. It was known to the town as the Miracle Moment, but to the angels, it was known as prophecy. Meet Selena Swan – weakness to heaven and hell alike. Dean vs. Castiel vs. Sam.

**Story Rating**: M for language, sexual content and violence.

**Chapter Rating**: M for language

Her knees buckled beneath her, and as the world seemed to spin in her vision, she collapsed to the floor with a soft 'thud.' Dean watched, semi-grateful, as the beautiful, panicked stranger dropped to the ground. He always did hate trying to have a civil conversation with a freaked out civilian in the room – too many questions, too many demands, and _way _too much stupidity. But alas, "Who the hell is that?"

Castiel, whose eyes were still lingering on the fainted female passively, replied, "Her name is Selena Olivia Swan."

Dean waited a tick for him to continue, but it appeared that awkward Cas was done. Sighing, he looked the floor where they'd appeared. Her purse had fallen, its contents littered on the ground. There was a wild mess of key chains – maybe a key or two in there? – some make-up, a tampon – oh, gross – a hair brush, and a colorful, much-too-big wallet. Dean lifted the wallet and examined the photo ID inside.

Her picture was somewhat goofy – she was smiling way too big, and her brown eyes were wide, like she had a deer-in-the-headlights look. Because she was smiling so large, he cheeks looked chubbier and her nose smaller, making her look much younger than the ID claimed.

Swan, Selena O. Age 25. Born June 21st. Five foot, five inches and 125 lbs. Oh, and she's an organ donor. How nice. "So why'd you bring her here?" Dean asked, shutting the wallet and tossing it back into her pile.

Castiel's eyes moved right to Dean's, a switch-intensity that still managed to startled him slightly, despite its frequency. Informatively vigor with his voice, he explains, "She is the reincarnation of Elizabeth, an angel cast out by Rafael and Gabriel near the dawn of creation."

_Whoa. Wasn't expecting that. _Dean eyed her – she was beautiful, sure, in a plain sort of way. She had a slight hourglass figure, nothing too extravagant, with wide hips and full breasts. Her face, unlike in her photo ID, was very mild – soft looking, actually. Although her eyes were closed, the shape was clearly round, and her nose small. Her lips – okay, _those _were hot. They were full, and a naturally deep red color. But all in all, she didn't look like an angel outcast. You'd expect heaven's reject to look a little more, I don't know, bad ass.

"For a very long time, Elizabeth and Lucifer were friends, much longer than she and Michal." _Oh, great. Story time._ Dean thought, then decided to sit down. "But Michal developed feelings for Elizabeth and acted on them, while, I suppose, Lucifer hadn't. Michal and Elizabeth fell in love, and Lucifer grew to resent him. After having such a profound bond with Lucifer for so many millennia before Michal, she was indecisive about her affections, and it brewed hatred between the brothers. Not long after did Lucifer rebel, and both Rafael and Gabriel believed her actions seeded his rebellion. They banished her while their brothers battled, unknowingly to the rest of heaven."

Dean glanced at her again. She shifted slightly, then her whole body slid down until her head landed on the carpet. The position was so weird – her butt mid-air, legs twisted, torso bent to the side. It would've been funny under other circumstances. But looking at her, he raised a brow, _**This **__girl played love nest with an archangel and the devil? __**Her? **_

"So…she's like Anna now? Graceless angel?" Dean asked, trying to understand her status.

"No, she's…" Castiel thought for a second, trying to come up with the right terminology to describe her situation. "a human of grace. Much more powerful cosmically."

"Cosmically?" Dean repeated, questioning.

"The night of her birth, not a single person on the face of the planet died," Castiel explained, his expression turning more thoughtful, as if thinking to a fonder memory, "Those suffering from any illness or handicap were instantly cured within a fifty mile radius of her birth, including those born with defects, or suffering terminally," he clarified. "Her emotions have an effect on the weather, her –" She groaned, catching Cas off guard. Both Castiel and Dean watched her intensely, wondering if she'd wake up.

She didn't. She simply shifted again, making her resting position even more awkward. "When heaven witnessed this miracle," Castiel continued, "it was concluded that such an act was significance of her re-birth. Michal recognized her soul, and ordered that she be protected until her death, where they would be reunited in heaven."

"Sounds peachy," Dean says, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "But where do we fit into this?" Dean knew full well that Castiel wouldn't have brought her without reason, and her certainly wouldn't have spent time explaining everything if Dean wasn't going to need the information.

Cas cocked his head to the side, "Don't you understand?" he demanded, "She is weakness to heaven and hell alike."

Dean blinked. _Is Cas really playing the love-triangle card? _Dean wondered, amused. He knew Cas wouldn't see it that way at all – he'd consider himself being psychologically strategic. "Alright, Cas," Dean says, thinking it over. _Depending how much they love or want her, I guess it might give us the upper hand every once in a while. _"Just one more question –" Dean says, leaning back in his seat. It squeaks under his weight. "Why didn't Michal come for her sooner? I mean, he could've just had her killed and get it over with – she'd die, go to heaven, and they'd be together again, right?"

Cas paused, like he hadn't thought of that before. "I don't know," he replied, bluntly. "Three angels, myself included, were assigned to protect her since birth, and to her natural death." He paused, as if thinking of something hard, regretfully. "and I killed the other two today," he added quietly.

A whining moan sounded from the floor where Selena was curled awkwardly. She sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair, then rubbed her eyes. She looked hesitant to even open them. Dean and Castiel watched silently, hoping she wouldn't freak out.

When her eyes finally did open, she groaned, "No, no, no, no, no…" she seemed to pout, and frankly, Dean thought it was kind of adorable. "It wasn't a dream?"

"No, it was reality," Cas said, earning another grunted response. For a moment, Dean wondered if she was going to cry, scream, or just generally flip shit. If that were the case, he'd be sending Cas to zap to the drug store for some sleeping pills. If there was one thing Dean Winchester did _not _do, it was crying women.

*Selena's POV*

Images flooded my mind, horrible, terrifying…

The black eyed strangers – were their eyes really black, or was it a trick of my mind? – that crashed into my apartment, raging and monstrous, trying to kill me. That bright light that burns through the core of a person at a single touch of the trench coated man, Castiel. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him, and I try to retain that thought with the reminder that I _am_ stillalive. How did he get there? And where did those other men come from, and why – oh heavens, why? – did they seem to explode a shadow of wings upon their death?

_I'm still alive. _I remind myself, trying to calm my buzzing nerves, my increasingly erratic breathing, _But where am I? _

Standing before me is Castiel, and that unfamiliar man I vaguely remember through blurred vision before everything went completely dark. He's unbelievably handsome, watching me carefully through striking green eyes. He has striking masculine features that I memorize instantly – a strong jaw, high cheek bones, chapped lips, and light five-o'clock shadow that matches his light brown, militarily cut hair.

His shoulders broad, his torso wide. I can see his biceps through his t-shirt, and I imagine a matching six pack hidden under his drapes and inwardly drool a little. He's tall, I can tell, even though he's sitting down. Maybe he's Michal? The one those other men were talking about? But, Castiel didn't want to take me to Michal, right? _Goodness… what the hell is going on?_

"So…" I manage, lifting myself from the ground. I brush my pants down, realizing I'm still in my pajamas. "Are you my savior or kidnapper?"

Castiel seemed to visibly pause, and I could literally see the thoughts enter and exit his mind. I wasn't aware it was possible to give so much away with a blank expression. "Your savior," he answers, conviction ringing in his tone.

I feel like this should've stilled my nerves, but it doesn't. I try not to think about the burning light he poured into those strangers at my apartment, or the way their eyes seared from their sockets, or their screams of agony. This man is _strong, _I admit, _even though he looks like an investment banker after a long night at a bar. _

_Savior. _I let it stew for a second, trying to understand. Why on earth did he save me? Or better yet, why did I even need saving? What did I do to all those people that made them so angry they would attack me like that? _I'm still alive. _I remind myself, _and I wouldn't be if it weren't for him. My savior. _

All the same, "Okay, can I go then?" I ask. _He said he wasn't my kidnapper, after all. _

"No," he replies, much quicker this time. His eyes lock to mine, a striking blue that sends a jolt down my spine. I feel myself stiffen at his answer, but his friend behind him seems to stifle a laugh, no doubt from the irony. Except, there really wasn't anything funny about this situation at all.

I think back to the self-defense classes I took a few years ago, and what my instructor told me about escape. Then I mentally slap myself – _as if a little karate could beat his death-ray touch._ So what then? "I need a drink," I say, taking a heavy sigh, running my fingers through my hair. _I need a lot of drinks. _

Not so deep down, I know it's a bad idea to get drunk under these circumstances, but with any chance of escape completely futile, I might as well resign myself until the situation arises, right? This doesn't exactly qualify as a normal kidnapping. "There's beer in the fridge," the stranger offers, pointing with the tip of his own beer towards the mini fridge to my right.

I'm not much of a beer drinker, but I'm grateful none the less. I tug at the cap to the icy beverage, feeling suddenly very embarrassed. I'm not sure why, since I have no need to impress them, but I realize I cannot pop the cap without my little tool – which is at home.

_Home. _I still, a horrifying thought entering my mind. At home, seven bodies are littering my bedroom and bathroom. Five have their eyes burnt out of their skull, the others have been stabbed, their backs exploding into an intricate design. _Mom…Dad… _When the police find them, when I'm reported _missing_, what kind of horrors will they be subjected to think happened to me? What else could they think but the absolute worst? _Oh god… they'll be so worried. _

I realize I have to get a phone call to them. My find my purse on the floor, but I remember my phone is still in my bathroom, probably under one the bodies. _Oh shit! I called 9-1-1! _I mentally curse myself – although it seemed logical at the time, it means that my poor parents are going to be woken up at this ungodly hour to be told their daughter was kidnapped by sadists.

I eye Castiel, trying to remind myself to look casual, struggling with this damn beer cap. He narrows his eyes, and I wonder for a brief moment if he can read my mind – it certainly wouldn't be a stretch. But he looks away just as quickly, turning to his friend, "Look after her," he orders, and suddenly he's gone.

"_Holy shit –" _I gasp, backing into the wall. Where did he – ? How did he – ? _**What the fuck?! **_

"You get used to him," said the stranger, taking a sip of his own beer, seeming to eye mine. "Need help?" he says, smiling amused. _He's got a beautiful smile_. Again I mentally slap myself – _stop that. They're your kidnappers. _

I hand him my beer, and he pops the cap off with no trouble, then hands it back to me. I lift it to my lips, and pull the drink back. The bitter taste floods my mouth, and I instantly regret the action, remembering exactly why I hated beer. But I put a brave face on, trying to act unaffected as I drink this crap. Bravely, I force myself to sit in the chair across from him. I need answers, and I'm much less affected fear-wise to this man than Castiel. Hopefully he's normal… whatever that means.

"What happened to me?" I ask, impressed with the how confident the question came out, considering how freaked out I really am. Setting the beer down onto the table, I hope I don't get thirsty – I don't want anymore.

"Dunno," he replied, smoothly, leaning back in his chair. He was so relaxed – no, not relaxed – _tired_. He looks utterly exhausted, emotionally and physically. "What happened?" he offers.

"Um," _where to start? _"I got home from work, and I was about to go to bed, but there was a knock at the door. Five people were outside, but they didn't look like they belonged together at all, though. When I didn't answer, they just busted in, all crazy. I ran to my bathroom and tried to hide in there, when that guy, Castiel, showed up –"

"Did they have black eyes?" Dean asked.

My heart drops into my stomach. _S-So it wasn't just in my head? _"Yes."

"Those were demons," he explains.

"Demons…?" I say, testing the word on my mouth. It sounds just as crazy as I thought it would. Every part of me wants to laugh and tell him he belongs to a psych ward, but… I guess for as insane as the situation was, it's the only thing that makes sense. "Okay, but Castiel would touch them and they'd die," I explain, "Like he was filling them with light. What does that make him?"

"Cas is an angel," he says. _I'm an angel of the Lord. _He was being serious? "Well, fallen angel, kind of. He's rebelling."

"From what?" I ask.

"Heaven," he replies, easily. "The angels have the whole corrupt politician thing going on right now."

_He's joking…right? _I try to read him, but he looks too tired to be joking. He takes another long drink of his beer, and I have to ask, "What do you mean?"

Dean takes a heavy breath, "Well," he says, trying to sort his thoughts, "It's complicated – " _Ha! That's an understatement. _"but basically they wanted to jumpstart judgment day, and they did."

_Judgment day? Is he talking about…_ "the Apocalypse?" I ask, mind reeling.

"Yep. Lucifer busted out of his cage and is ready to lite the place up."

_He's crazy. _ I tell myself, _He has to be crazy. _Okay, I'll buy the demon thing. Hell, I'll even buy the angel thing. But the apocalypse? Corrupt heaven? I mean – I'm _Buddhist! _Christianity is a joke!...right? "Wait," I pause, "What do _I_ have to do with any of this?" How could I be _anything_ but another dead civilian in the apocalypse? I'm not anything special.

"Er, Cas said you're the reincarnation of Lucifer and Michal's ex-girlfriend. You had some love-triangle crap going on upstairs and the archangels kicked you out." _For what? Being a ho? _

I blink. _Um…what? _

"Lucifer as in…_the devil,_" I clarify, and he nods, "And Michal as in…_the archangel?_"

Suddenly the conversation between Castiel and the other two men made sense. I gasp – _they must've been angels_!

"_Let us take the girl, Castiel." _

"_I cannot do that, brother."_

"_Think about what you're doing, Castiel. You have defied heaven already, and you stand against Lucifer alone. You do not want to personally offend Michal, too." _

"_I appreciate your concern, but not Lucifer nor Michal would dare move against me if I have her." _

"No," I say, refusing to believe it. "You've got the wrong girl."

Dean shrugs, "Take that up with the angels," he tells me, "I'm not too keen on their plans for me, either."

I decide not to ask, not yet anyway, what he meant by that. This is all too much. I eye the beer in front of me, deciding drunkenness is required, despite the awful bitter taste of beer. I chug the bottle, earning a quirked brow from the stranger. "By the way, what's your name?" I ask, gasping as the bottle leaves my lips breathless.

"Dean."

_Dean. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Liquid Sunshine

**Chapter Title: **Drunkenness

**Summary**: In the moments of her birth, not a single person in the entire world died. Those within a fifty mile radius of her birth suffering from illness, terminal or otherwise, were healed. The blind were given sight, the deaf hearing, and the mute voices. Those who suffered from handicaps were healed – the paralyzed could move, the comatose awoke, and the mentally ill cured. It was known to the town as the Miracle Moment, but to the angels, it was known as prophecy. Meet Selena Swan – weakness to heaven and hell alike. Dean vs. Castiel vs. Sam.

**Story Rating**: M for language, sexual content and violence.

**Chapter Rating**: M for language, sexual assault and violence.

*Selena's POV*

"Wanna grab a bite?" Dean asks, breaking our long silence.

I nod, numbly. Our conversation was buzzing through me, a million miles per hour, thrusting me to the brink of insanity. The more I thought about it, the more I was resolved into the believing this was all a dream, or a trick of the mind. I wanted to believe the lighting hit my attackers strangely, shadowed their faces from me, so their eyes only _appeared _black. Or maybe it was my mind trying to protect me in its own weird way, from the traumatic experience of being attacked in my apartment – those sort of things _happen_. People get attacked in their homes, and people think they experience strange things in traumatic situations, when they really don't.

But to believe that demons attacked me to, probably, take me to the recently risen Lucifer (a.k.a. the devil) while angel's appeared to take me to the archangel Michal, while a rouge angel fought all of them off to take me to a bottomless beer pit (seriously – Dean is on his seventh beer and still sober) was just too crazy. _And _that I'm the reincarnation of Heaven's biggest slut… well, theologically speaking, that doesn't even add up.

But then, who are these people? Who is Dean, this relaxed, handsome man who has explanations that make no sense, but make them all sound so real? So believable? If I were suffering from a traumatic trick of my mind, wouldn't it be over by now? I've never heard of a delusion playing on for so long. Then, maybe it's a dream.

But another part of me clawed at the back of my mind, the part that saw, that _felt _all of the chaos. And now, sitting here with Dean, it's proof that it all happened. Hell, I popped into Michigan from Oregon in a few seconds flat – _how _could that be, if what Dean said wasn't true? Castiel, the rouge angel, zapped me here.

_No. _I tell myself, forcefully. _None of this… It just can't be. _Taking a deep breath, I know I'm stubbornly refusing information rather than critically analyzing my situation, but I'm too scared and confused to care. I just _can't _believe in all of this. If I do… well, then it's the end of the world. Literally. _I have to escape. _I tell myself, _I need help. _

"Hey," Dean says, opening the hotel door. "You coming?"

Again I nod, standing to join him outside. I consider running – taking off to the main office of the hotel, demanding that someone call the police. I consider fighting him, trying some of the moves my very qualified self-defense instructor taught me. But an unwelcome wonder enters my mind – maybe he's like Castiel? Maybe he could kill me with a touch? Or even if he was human, he's obviously been exposed to all of this craziness… how well trained would he be against me? I decide stealth is my best option of escape.

I'll have to figure something out later. For now, I'm hungry.

Dean opens the passenger door to a black Impala, but doesn't wait for me to get in before going to his own side. I climb in as the engine roars to life. He drives smoothly, despite his previously consumed alcoholic beverages. His eyes are fixed on the road, heavy but focused. How could someone so masculine, so strong-looking, also look so broken? Regardless of what's going on… there was more to this man than facing the apocalypse.

_You're in denial. _My subconscious scolds. _Suck it up and face the facts – we're beyond denial, and this certainly isn't the kind of shit you should be pretending isn't there. _I push those thoughts aside, focusing on the dashboard. It's very clean, I notice, lamely. My dashboard has dust on it.

Dean parks and climbs out. We're at a dingy-looking bar called Pub and Grub. Although the parking lot is dark and quiet, the moment the doors open, it's roaring with talk, laughter and old rock music. The clack of billiards balls hitting each other rings in the background, in addition to obnoxious cat-call whistles and smokers-cough. The bar smells of greasy foods, cigarettes, sweaty men and booze.

_Oh, booze. _I try to contain my relief. _I want booze. _

I scoot close to Dean, walking almost directly on him. I'm getting eyed from all directions, sketchy, large men winking, hollering and reaching for me. Dean doesn't seem to notice, more focused on finding a table to sit at. When he does, I sit in the seat next to him, not across from him, with my back to the wall. I'm still being watched, but I try to ignore them.

How ironic is it that I'm scooting close to my kidnapper to protect me from strangers? _I'm losing my mind. _I tell myself, but when I catch sight of an absurdly obese, bearded biker man cackling while looking me up and down, I tell myself my kidnapper is the lesser of two evils.

A young blonde approaches the table, writing pad in hand. "What can I get for you two?" she asks, smiling at Dean. I can't blame her – if I were in a causal bar situation, I'd totally be crushing on him. He's _hot. _But if she only knew…

"Double bacon cheese burger with fries," he says, not seeming to notice her flirty body language. I know it's not because of me – he hasn't paid me any mind at all, not that I should care. He looks so preoccupied and sad, like a kid whose dog died or best friend moved away.

She scribbles onto her notepad, nodding sweetly at him, then finally turns to me, her expression changed, "Er, the same, I guess," I tell her, "and tequila. Leave the bottle." She quirks a brow at me, looking surprised, but scribbles it down and walks away, not forgetting her final wink at Dean. Again he doesn't notice, or at least, pretends not to.

I try not to be annoyed. I hate flamboyant flirting like that – at least _try_ to have a little dignity. _Pfft…slut. _I look at Dean, who looks amused. "What?" I ask, wishing he'd stop.

"Double bacon cheese burger?" he says, "You seem more like the salad type." I know he's just making small talk, but I appreciate the gesture. Anything to get my mind off these pigs staring at me.

I roll my eyes at him. Usually, I would be. I've been on a pretty strict diet for the past few months, but… "If it's the end of the world, I'm not sweating my cholesterol, thunder thighs, _or_ liver." Dean barks a laugh, but it's not funny. The thought is weighing heavier on us – _it's the end of the world. _

The blonde brings out our food and bottle with two shot classes. I hit the tequila before I even touch the burger – _I need booze. _I pour our shots, then slam mine, refill, and repeat. Dean watches in silence, and I feel judged, but I don't care. Four shots later, I'm feeling better, and I _really_ don't care. More relaxed. _Apoca- what? _I know better than drowning my worries in alcohol, but by the time my subconscious is ready to yell at me, she's too drunk to care, too.

I smile, popping a fry in my mouth, feeling _good_. "You know," I tell him, the words slipping from my newly uncensored mouth, "All of this," I gesture to the bar, to him, to me, "is crap."

"Crap?" Dean repeats curiously, mouth full.

"Yeah. I mean… you're _crazy. _This whole heaven and hell stuff… _pfft,_" I slam another shot, waving my hand around, and he watches me blankly, "I'm Buddhist," I slur, decisively, pointing at myself. "and Christianity is _stupid_."

He chokes on his food a little, laughing. "This is going to be an interesting night…" he mutters.

I tell him about my cat, Albert, and how ridiculously fat he is. I admit my considerations with a tiny treadmill, but how I'm not confident Albert utilize my investment to its full potential. I tell him about my car – a red mini cooper that needs an oil change. I ask him to remind me to do that later, then realize I don't know how to do an oil change, and express my frustrations of not knowing how to do an oil change. _Then _I realize I don't even have my car anymore, and I'm mad because I just finished making the payments.

I'm just talking, and after a while, I'm not exactly sure what about. Words pour from my mouth, confessions after random confessions with each tequila shot I consume. Dean listens, looking mildly amused. Or maybe he's pretending? I'm too drunk to care. He's drinking, too, but doesn't look like he's even tipsy. I wonder briefly if it's even possible for him to get drunk. Maybe he's tried to drown his apocalypse worries in alcohol too many times, his tolerance has built? That would _suck. _

I tell him about my parents, and how they started their own business – a restaurant they named after me and my adopted sister – _Sierra Selena_, and how yesterday, my biggest problem was all the drama that came with having a bridezilla best friend, who I'm supposed to meet up with tomorrow afternoon for dress shopping. I start worrying about who will take my shift tomorrow at work, and if I'll get fired for being kidnapped.

I'm near tears when Dean decides I've had enough to drink and tells me we should go. Taking a shaken breath, wiping my eyes, I agree with him and wobble to my feet. My legs feel like noodles that I have no control over. I feel so much drunker now that I'm standing.

It's late, and the bar has settled down a little. Dean is putting a few bills on the table, a tip, then looks to me, expectantly. I move to take a step, but I wobble, and fall backwards, thankfully into the wall and not on the floor. Steading myself, I attempt the action again, and fail. This time Dean catches me, and puts one arm around me to steady. "Alright, ready?" he asks, and I nod, weakly.

I try to focus on the floor, and using an ungodly amount of concentration, I force my feet forward, my legs buckling under me. If it weren't for Dean, I'd be crawling out of here. Or staying, drinking more. Both would bad, considering I'm likely on the verge of alcohol poisoning.

Each step is lamer than the next, until eventually I'm just hanging on him while he practically drags me out. The bar seems to be swaying back and forth, like a ship would on a rough sea. It's absolutely nauseating. "Somebody needs to learn when to say when," Dean scolds me, lightly, smiling at me teasingly.

"When," I slur miserably, trying to focus on the exit. The damn door is moving back and forth, fueling my nausea. I'm moments away from puking when we're finally outside, the fresh air hitting me like a wave, relieving my instantly. I take an exaggerated breath, pulling as much air into my lungs as possible, feeling it's calming effect. I must've looked silly, gasping like that, because Dean decided to leave me there to bring the car around, mumbling something about how I better now puke in his baby. It takes me a minute to realize he's talking about his car.

I steady myself on the wall, wishing we'd taken the bottle, even though there wasn't a lot left.

"Hey sexy," someone calls. I turn, nearly falling but catching myself again, to see who said that. Two men are walking towards me, one rather tall and lean, the other shorter but stocky. They both had dark brown hair and matching eyes – brothers, maybe? "I like your pajamas," the taller one tells me.

I beam, welcoming the compliment. I'd totally forgotten I was still wearing them, not that I have anything to change into at the moment. "Tanks," I slur, smiling, "My grandma got 'em for me last Christmas."

"Nice lady," the shorter one says, looking amused.

I nod, meaningfully, "Oh, she is. She always brings great gifs," I tell them, trailing off into a fit of giggles. They laugh, too, but sharing a look, I realize their laughing at something else, like an inside joke. It only makes me laugh more.

"Hey, can I show you something?" the taller asks, gesturing to the side of the bar. I peek over, then back into the parking lot. Dean is climbing into the Impala.

"I dunno," I tell him, suspiciously. Something doesn't seem right, but I'm too drunk to be overly worried. "Dean is getting the car now…" I tell them, not that it means anything to them.

"It'll only be a second," he assures me, resting his hand on the small of my back. He pushes me lightly forward, and I fall a little. He catches me, "Careful now," he says, calmly. I hold onto him for support, his friend following closely behind us.

They take me behind the bar, and we're completely alone. "What'd you wanna show meh?" I ask, looking around. The stockier guy jumps behind me, holding my arms. I squeal, surprised. "W-What'd ya doing?" I demand, feeling sick.

"Shhh," the taller whispers, leaning close. He grabs my chin roughly, landing a sloppy kiss. _This can't be happening… _I bite his tongue, and he retreats with a shout. I'm trying to wiggle away from his friend, but his grip is solid, and I have _no _equilibrium. _Damn it! Why did I have to drink so much!? _

"Bitch," the taller says, and spits blood. _Wow, I bit him hard. _Curling his hand, he slams his fits into my stomach. I gasp, the air leaving my lungs. I stand, stunned, struggling to breathe. Tears sting my eyes and I feel myself shake with fear. _Oh god... _I would've fallen, but his friend keeps me up. The taller man grabs my tank and rips it down the middle, exposing my white bra. He chuckles, devilishly, a sound that chills me to the core. _He's going to rape me. _I realize, fear knotting my stomach.

Roughly, he grabs my breast, hands swimming down my sides. I can feel his friend breathing on my neck, chuckling, whispering, "Feels good, don't it?" But it feels disgusting. He fumbles with his belt, then his button and zipper. He's already got a raging hard on, and the sight makes me sick.

"I'm warning you - !" I shout, but my voice shakes. I'm so scared, I'm so _drunk. _My head isn't working right, and I find myself saying, "I watch a lot of Jackie Chan movies! I know how to kick some ass!"

Both of them pause, and for a moment I think they'll stop. But that idiotic hope would be the tequila, because as expected, they burst into a fit of laughter. The man holding me from behind trails wet, disgusting kisses down my neck, moaning into me. I can feel his boner on my back, poking my ass.

His friend yanks at my pajamas, dropping them. I shut my eyes, tears falling freely from my eyes. _This can't be happening. This can't be happening… _

I kick my legs up, trying to kick him away, but vision is blurred and double, and I can't seem to aim. I sloppily kick him back, then move to kick him again, feeling his friend tightening his grip from behind. The taller man grabs my leg, then kicks the other out from under me, and slams his fist into my stomach again. I gasp, painfully. "If you stop struggling, it won't hurt as much," he tells me. The thought is sickening.

He grabs my panties, and I shut my eyes. I can't look. I – _CRASH! _

My eyes fly open, and I'm thrown aside, landing into the wet gravel. I look up and spot Dean, fist flying across the taller man's face, and cracking sound echoing with it. Surely, with a hit like that, his jaw is broken. The shorter one attempts a hit, but Dean blocks smoothly, then kicks him back. He slams against the brick wall, and before he could recover, Dean lands one across his cheek, head slamming into the wall, and he falls unconscious.

Behind him, the taller man has risen, face swollen and bloody. He grabs Dean from behind, attempting a head-lock that Dean glides out of easily. Fist already curled, he lands several hits into his gut. The taller, curled over in pain, begs for mercy. Dean grunts in response, then lands a final blow onto the back of his head, knocking him unconscious completely.

I watch, stunned and grateful, tears still pouring for my eyes. My hands are shaking, the gravel rocks digging into my cold skin. I can't control my breathing. Dean moves to me quickly, shrugging off his jacket. He wraps it around me, and I feel instantly warmer, the smell of old leather, whiskey and pine filling my nostrils. "You okay?" he asks, helping me up.

_Am I okay? _I'm standing naked, aside from panties and a bra and your jacket, in the back of an alley, drunk off my ass. I've been saved by my kidnapper from a couple of rapists, and I can't even call my mom to cry about it. But despite everything, I jump into Dean, wrapping my arms around him, sobbing into his chest.

He stiffens initially, then wraps his arms around me, too. He kisses the top of my head, and tells me it's going to be okay_. But what part of this is going to be okay? The part where demons want me? The part where angels want me? Or the part where random humans want me? What part of this is okay? _

But I know what's okay. Here, in his arms, taking in the smell of leather and pine, his arms wrapped securely around my shaking body, I feel _okay_. I know it's probably the tequila talking, but I feel safe. Despite this, I can't stop crying. Being safe unfortunately also means vulnerability. "Can we go now?" I sob, breaking away.

He nods, and we both move to go forward, but I fall. This simple accident causes a whole new wave of tears. _Why did I have to drink so much? _"Shhh," Dean calms me, lifting me from the ground. He swings me into his arms, carrying me. Again I feel safer, calmer. Gripping his coat around my naked body, I nuzzle my nose into his neck and attempt to control my breathing. "You smell good," I confess, shamelessly.

He chuckles and opens the Impala door, setting me inside, and shutting it behind him. I watch him jog to the other side and climb in. I lay down, my head on his lap. Part of me knows it's inappropriate, but again, _I don't care. _"Dean?" I whisper, feeling my body drain of all energy. "Thank you."

…and everything goes black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: Liquid Sunshine

**Chapter Title: **Q & A

**Summary**: In the moments of her birth, not a single person in the entire world died. Those within a fifty mile radius of her birth suffering from illness, terminal or otherwise, were healed. The blind were given sight, the deaf hearing, and the mute voices. Those who suffered from handicaps were healed – the paralyzed could move, the comatose awoke, and the mentally ill cured. It was known to the town as the Miracle Moment, but to the angels, it was known as prophecy. Meet Selena Swan – weakness to heaven and hell alike. Dean vs. Castiel vs. Sam.

**Story Rating**: M for language, sexual content and violence.

**Chapter Rating**: T for mild language

*Dean*

Cradling her in his arms, Dean stepped into the hotel room, utterly furious. Furious that he wasn't there to stop the situation before it had gotten so far, furious that she hadn't waited for him like he'd said, and beyond furious that those scum had attempted such a stunt. He held her tightly, however gently, trying to calm his shaking nerves to no avail. He hunted monsters with less evil in them than those bastards… _oh _how badly he wanted to kill them both.

But as much as he hated leaving them breathing (however slightly) he knew that she'd seen more than enough in the past couple hours, and it wasn't fair to force her to witness another death, no matter how well deserved. All he could do was try to be satisfied knowing that they would be waking up in the ICU, if not comatose already.

He laid her down onto the bed gently, to which his jacket fell from around her. It was then that he notice two distinct swollen, purple bruises rising to the surface of her stomach, large and inflamed. What sanity he had left in him flew away, and he was fuming all over again. _That would _hurt _tomorrow. _He realized, then began to inspect the rest of her body.

She had smaller scattered bruises on her arms, no doubt from where that ass hole was holding her, and her hands and knees were scratched and bloody from where she'd been thrown into the gravel. A fainter bruise was rising on her right breast in the form of a hand print, where Dean realized her attacker had gripped her roughly.

_Damn it! _he cursed. Less than twenty four hours ago, she was attacked by angels and demons, witnessed several deaths, was exposed to the supernatural world and now… now _I can't even protect her from some pig humans. _

Heart racing in pure outrage, Dean moved to the bathroom to wet a wash cloth, thinking to himself how utterly unfair it was that she was forced into this situation. Not just being attacked by perverts, but being here at all. She should be in Oregon, petting that damn cat she kept going on about, not processing the apocalypse, and her role as the reincarnation of heaven's tramp.

_God, _Dean thought, miserably, _She's just so damn __**normal. **_She'd been yapping away at the bar, and he hadn't realized it until then exactly what world she was coming from, and what all of this meant to her. This girl has a loving family, lots of friends, and a respectable job. She pays rent, has car payments, a gym membership, volunteers on the weekends and goes to book club. _Book club!_ To be heaven and hell's most wanted means that she'll never be able to go back to that again. In an instant, normalcy, _safety, _has been thrown out the window, lost forever.

Running the wet cloth over her scraped hands, Dean realized how soft her skin was, and how foreign the scratches and bruises looked against her perfection. Looking at her now, calm and relaxed, well groomed despite her recent injuries, he realized how out of place she was in this world, in _his _world. Her hands were so small compared to his, clean and perfectly manicured, against his rough, calloused hands. _Jesus, she looks so fragile._

Dean's gaze traveled up her arm, toned but without any muscle definition, to her sharp collar bone. His eyes lingered to her exposed chest, and down her feminine curves – the perfect hourglass figure. But his eyes stopped at her fat stomach, slowly rising and falling, that growing purple blemish contrasting darkly against her tan completion.

Anger bubbled in his chest again – _those bastards. _He breaks an ice pack, attempting to control his breathing, the rage bubbling out of him in a way he'd never experienced before. Laying it gently on her stomach, she shifts slightly, her brows furrowing for a short, uncomfortable moment before adjusting to the temperature and relaxing again. Silently he hoped the swelling would go down before she woke up.

Unzipping his bag, Dean pulls out a navy t-shirt that he rarely wore for her to put on. Gently, he lifts her from the bed, her body clumsily flopping into his chest, limp. He pops the collar over her head, then attempts to bend her arms into the holes, then pulling the rest over her body. As expected, the shirt was long on her, making her at least half-decent. Tucking her under the blankets, he awkwardly thinks to himself how glad he is that that's over.

Almost instantly she curls into a ball, then mutters something in her sleep, and Dean wonders briefly what she is dreaming about.

Dean grabs a beer from the fridge, and starts to wonder how much this girl will dominate his life. If Sam were here, it'd be easier… he's definitely better with this kind of stuff.

Dean shoves the unwelcomed thoughts away, looking side-long at his phone. _No, _he reminds himself, _Sam and I are better off apart. _

*Selena's POV*

_It's so warm. _I realize, curling into the fluff surrounding me. Blankets, pillows, and a soft bed… For a moment, I think I'm home. But as my eyes open, I'm exposed to a horrid bright light, poking through bland curtains, and I remember where I am. I groan, shutting my eyes, pulling the blanket over my head, which is now pounding furiously against my skull.

_Hangover. _I realize, miserably. "Morning," I hear, and recognize it as Dean's voice.

_Ow. _"Not so loud," I groan, grumpily.

I hear him chuckle, then tells me, "Come on," he pulls the blankets away, and again a searing bright light blinds me. _Noooooo…. _I plea, but he hands me some water and two pink tablets. "We've got a big day. Get it together."

I mutter profanities under my breath, forcing my body upward. I instantly regret the action, not because of my head, but my stomach. I yelp in pain, then roll backwards, the throbbing sensation still shooting strong. Tears sting my eyes – the pain is unfathomable. I feel like I've been hit by a truck.

_Oh. _I remember…sort of, at least. Being attacked by those two men, and him hitting me. I suppose I should be more traumatized, and I probably would be if the night didn't seem like a hazy dream. Or, maybe it's because I'm growing numb to all the chaos. I'm thankful for this, but it's also kind of frightening. What kind of world am I living in that nearly being raped is something I can nearly shrug off? Two days ago, I'd be curled up in my mom's arms bawling my eyes out, demanding therapy and a good lawyer to press charges. But then again, two days ago I wouldn't have had a handsome man blowing in to the rescue.

I sit up, much slower this time, gritting my teeth. Dean watches, looking sympathetic but doesn't say anything. It's then that I notice I'm wearing a large navy tee, and I'm thankful. I down the two pills and a small sip of water. All movement is excruciating.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my pounding head, my throbbing stomach and…_oh shit. _Ignoring all agony, I run to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before heaving all the contents of my stomach into the filthy porcelain bowl. Miserably, I choke out disgusting chucks of brown and yellow, my stomach tightening with every heave, throwing me into the worst pain imaginable.

_God, nothing has ever hurt so bad in my life. _"Uh," Dean says. Breathing heavily, I glance up at him from the floor. He's standing in the door way holding out a plastic bag. I take it, then notice the bruises up my arms. They don't hurt too badly, though. I take the bag, seeing that there's a toothbrush inside and some more medicine. "There's coffee out here when you're ready." I nod weakly, pathetically humiliated.

I force myself up again, my stomach begging me to stop. But alas, I shut the bathroom door and squirt toothpaste onto the brush, letting the minty sensation calm me. _Nothing like vomit breath to make you feel sexy in the morning…_

After two solid brushings, I turn the shower on and step inside. The warm water feels amazing, rushing down my surprisingly achy body. I chalk the pain up to stress and, of course, my attackers. I try harder to remember more clearly what had happened,

_Slamming his fist into my stomach. _

_Tearing my tank top away, roughly grabbing at my breast with his greasy hands. _

_His friend whispering into my neck, "Feels good, don't it?" _

"_If you stop struggling, it won't hurt so much." _

And Dean, the way he stepped in and slammed those two into oblivion. It dawned on me, _I would've been raped if it weren't for him. _I still, realizing the fullness of that situation. I've been attacked twice now, once by (supposedly) angels and demons, saved by Castiel, and now by perverts, saved by Dean. Where would I be if it weren't for them? What would be happening to me right now? Somehow, even though I have no evidence to think such things, I believe that being here, with Dean, was the lesser of all evils. That I was safe here. Or, as safe as I can be, I suppose.

Stepping out of the shower, I put my clothes back on, or, Dean's shirt, and make a mental note to ask Dean if we can go shopping later. I feel too naked to be comfortable. Peeking out of the bathroom, I spot Dean on his phone.

"Yeah," he says into the phone, then waits. "Okay, we'll see you soon then." And he hangs up.

"Uh, Dean?" he turns around, looking a little guilty, like he'd been caught. I wonder what he was talking about on the phone? Probably me. "Can I borrow some pants?"

He smirks, "You can get in my pants anytime."

I roll my eyes. _I guess I had that one coming. _Shuffling through his bag, he pulls out a pair of dark wash jeans and a belt. I snatch them and retreat back into the bathroom, pulling them up. Not only are they _way _too long, but even with the belt they're barely hanging onto my hips.

I shuffle out, feeling like a child in her father's clothes – tiny. Dean flashes a smirk, quirking a brow. "My clothes look good on you," he tells me, teasingly.

"Better than on you," I resort, returning a playful smile. I take a moment to enjoy the simplicity of the moment – raging hangover and war wounds aside. He hands me a cup of coffee, which I graciously accept. It's then that I spot my purse on the floor, contents spilled out. I move to retrieve it, when I notice Dean packing his things, too. "Where are you going?" I ask, shoving my keys back inside the bag.

"_We're _going to a friend of mine," he explains, "You'll be safe there."

I nod, wondering what exactly that means, but drop it was my attention turns to my keys. I spot that little army tag on the key chain, and my heart swells with sorrow for my parents. _They must be worried sick. _"Hey, Dean?" I say, quietly. "Can I call my parents?" Dean freezes, watching me carefully. Tears sting my eyes again, "I won't tell them anything," I insist, "I just… I need them to know that I'm okay."

Dean thinks for a moment, visibly weighing his options, before deciding to hand me his phone. "Keep it short," he says, "And don't tell them where you are. You'll only be putting them in danger."

I nod, whatever that means. Does he think that angels and demons will go after my parents to get to me? Gratefully, I dial their home number. It rings only once before my mom's panicked voice races across the other line. "H-Hello?"

"Mom," I say, and I hear her scream, gasp, and sob all at once. She calls my dad to the phone, and I hear a slight echo. I'm on speaker now.

"Sweetie, where are you? Are you okay?" my mom sobs, her tone growing hysterical. "We thought you were – " she stops, unable to finish.

Hearing her so broken, I feel defeated myself. My heart spills from my eyes, and I choke down my own sob. "Did they hurt you?" I hear my dad demand, and I can hear the croak in his voice, too. "Tell me where you are, Lena."

I shake my head, my heart racing at my fond nickname. Taking a deep, shaky breath to calm my voice. "I'm okay," I tell them, thankful at my convincing tone. I look over at Dean, whose expression was softer, almost guilty. "you have to trust me that I'm okay."

"Sweetie, please," mom begs, her sobbing uncontrollable now. "Where are you? Who did this? There were bodies at your apartment – oh God," she choked, "the police said you were attacked…"

"I was, but I was saved," I assure, "That's who I'm with now. The people who saved me…" I look to Dean, wondering if I'm giving too much away. He doesn't stop me, but looks edgy, like I shouldn't continue. "I'm not safe yet, but they're going to take care of me until this all blows over."

"Lena, what are you talking about?" my dad demands.

I bite my lip. They need an answer. A reason… "I started gambling again," I lie, and I see a Dean glance at me questionably, perplexed by my answer. "I got in some more trouble, and I owe some people money…" I pause, "again."

"Oh, Lena," my dad sighs, sounding broken and disappointed. "_Why_?"

"I…I don't know. But I'm going to pay them back, but until then I have to lay low. I pissed off some pretty high profile people, and the people I'm with are going to keep me safe until I can pay them off."

"You've got to be kidding me!" my dad roars, "Criminal witness protection?"

"Just come home, sweetie. We'll keep you safe here. The police can help – "

"No, mom," I say, the my heart weighing heavily in my chest. I know I've disappointed them in the worst possible way. "I'll come home when it's all over. I don't want to put you in any danger."

"Lena…"

"Can you guys call the hospital and tell them I'll be taking those vacation and sick days now? Tell Anna I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to go dress shopping with her. Oh, and feed Albert," I rattle off, trying to downsize the situation. "I got to go –

"No!" I hear them both shout.

"I love you guys," I hang up the phone, not waiting for an answer. I hand Dean his phone back, grabbing my purse, and heading for the door. Without looking at him, I try miserably to compose myself, "You ready to go, or what?" I demand, stepping outside.

…

We've been sitting in quiet for a while now. About an hour ago Dean turned on some music – ACDC, and we were already on our second run of the tape – yes, a tape. Not even a CD. Seriously?

"So why'd you tell your parents you owed people money? Did they buy that?" Dean asks, breaking our silence.

"I had a pretty big gambling problem a few years back," I explain, "I got into some pretty big trouble with people I owed money to. I figured it'd be the easiest explanation they could hold onto." Dean nodded, his expression thoughtful. When he didn't say anything, I started feeling awkward. You can't just confess something like that and then…_nothing_. "How did you get wrapped up in the whole apocalypse thing?" I ask.

"Heh," he looks rather unenthused about the question. "My brother and I were raised hunters by our dad, and,"

"What's a hunter?" I ask, assuming he wasn't referring to the traditional sense of hunting Bambi.

"It's a job. Killing monsters, basically," he explains, "Vampires, werewolves, shape shifters, vengeful spirits… you name it, we hunt it."

"There are more hunters? People like you?"

Dean nods. _Wow. _I try to decide if he's crazier than I thought, or if he's telling the truth. No matter how insane he sounds, I just…_believe him. _I realize that anything he says sounds right. Maybe it's because he believes it, or maybe it's because I'm crazy… or maybe… _no. Not even going to go there. _

"You said you and your brother? Where is he?"

Dean stiffens, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. I can see I've struck a nerve. "Sam and I are taking separate vacations for a while," he says, tightly. His expression is that of pain. _He must've been really close to his brother. _

"Kind of crappy timing to separate, though, don't you think?" I ask, wondering what their issue was.

"We're better off," he says, his voice holding brittle confidence. I'm not convinced, but I drop it, trying to imagine what this man's brother is like. I can't hold a single image in my mind. The way he spoke, _someone_ fucked up. I know the look – Sierra, my younger sister, and I have never really seen eye to eye on a lot of things, but our love for each other is unconditional and timeless, so when we're fighting, we're more broken than we are angry.

That's exactly what Dean looked like. "What about your parents?" I ask, deciding to change the subject.

He shoots me a soft glare, almost like a warning, then turns the music up, looking ever-focused on the road. I assume that means he doesn't want to talk about it. Again I attempt to focus on the music, but by the time the tape is on its third run, I'm completely sick of their voices. I turn it to mute, and ask, "Do you like hunting?"

Dean takes a breath, and in that single motion, I read his answer. No – he's _exhausted. _"Not so much anymore," he replies, "Used to think I was making a difference or something, but… there's just too much damn evil out there."

"You're a hero," I say.

He shakes his head, "Doesn't feel like it anymore."

"Well," I tell him, "You were my hero last night."

He looks over at me, and I feel myself blush, embarrassed. _Oh geez… did that sound super cheesy? _I want to bury my head in the sand all of a sudden… I didn't mean –

"Thanks," he says, quietly, eyes back on the road.

"So, um," I search my brain for another topic. Anything else but this awkwardness. "What's Bobby like?"

Dean cracks a small smile, the first I've seen all day, "You'll like him," he assures me.

"How far are we?" We've been in this damn car for _hours. _I mean, the longest I've ever road tripped was to Seattle, and that's only a few hours.

"Another four hours or so," he says, but he says it in a way that sounds like it's just a few more blocks. I groan, slouching down into my seat. He watches me critically, "Don't start that 'are-we-there-yet' shit, either," he warns, and I suppress a smile. _Watch me. _

…

We're about an hour out before I get the guts to ask the question ringing in my brain since I got in this car: "Will I be on the run forever?"

Dean pauses, then sighs, "Depends," he says, again sounding tired, "If we pull this off, you can probably go home."

"You mean, _stop the apocalypse_?" I ask. Yup – it sounds just as crazy coming out as it did in my head.

He doesn't answer, and he doesn't have to. His expression gives it all away. The way his brows are furrowed, his eyes slightly narrowed, his jaw clenched and his lips tight. I suddenly feel guilty, watching that worry and doubt flood across his features. "It's kind of objectifying, you know," I blurt out, trying to steal his attention from the stress of _saving the whole fucking world._

He glances at me, questionably. "Michal and Lucifer trying to take me to 'be theirs', like I'm some kind of object to be claimed. It's really undervaluing me as a person, don't you think?" I don't wait for him to answer, watching his face relax in mild humor, "Jeez… when I see those two, I'm going to give them the feminist rampage of the decade," I claim, watching an amused smile play across his face. "Stupid patriarchal _dicks._"

He laughs, "I'd like to be there to see that."

"Video tape that shit," I tell him, excitedly, "Maybe we can submit it to one of those 'funniest home videos' from their reactions."

***Author's Note: Alright, so you've gotten to know Selena pretty well by now. She's starting to adjust, although denial still lingers in the back of her mind. Fret not – all doubts will be eradicated in the next chapter! She and Dean are getting more comfortable with each other, and I'm excited to write/create their flourishing relationship.

Please REVIEW! I haven't gotten any reviews and it's quite discouraging, since I've been working really hard on this story. If you're interested, this story has a profile at where there are banners and quotes and spoilers and chapter updates galore! So follow me :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: Liquid Sunshine

**Chapter Title: **The End (Part One)

**Summary**: In the moments of her birth, not a single person in the entire world died. Those within a fifty mile radius of her birth suffering from illness, terminal or otherwise, were healed. The blind were given sight, the deaf hearing, and the mute voices. Those who suffered from handicaps were healed – the paralyzed could move, the comatose awoke, and the mentally ill cured. It was known to the town as the Miracle Moment, but to the angels, it was known as prophecy. Meet Selena Swan – weakness to heaven and hell alike. Dean vs. Castiel vs. Sam.

**Story Rating**: M for language, sexual content and violence.

**Chapter Rating**: M for language

*Selena's POV*

Bobby wasn't anything that I expected him to be. I guess I imagined a fellow, older hunter to be a frightening older man with a crazy beard and scars littered all over his body. Maybe he'd even have an eye patch. Instead, he was a somewhat chunky, amazingly friendly and kindly sarcastic hick. Rolling in on a wheel chair, he wore plaid and dark jeans with a tattered baseball cap that I doubt left his head outside the shower. He sort of reminded me of my favorite uncle, especially when he called Dean an "idjit."

"I ain't gunna ask why you're wearin' Dean's clothes," was the first thing he said since our initial introduction. I flush, embarrassed by his thought process. I almost explain, but don't feel like explaining rapists unrobed me, not Dean. And no lie, I wish it was Dean.

He'd gotten hot on the drive and took off his leather jacket and plaid button up shirt, which was already unbuttoned, of course, but left me drooling over his incredibly defined chest, muscles shamelessly defined, each sharp curve and hard line accurately portrayed modestly through his tee. And his arms…_oh heavens. _Relaxed and easy driving, his upper arms were sharp, and much larger than that bulky leather jacket gives them credit for. To say it made the latter part of our drive distracting, which was an understatement.

"My late wife might have some clothes upstairs that'll fit you," Bobby continues, snapping me from my sexy daydream. "Upstairs, first door on the left."

I thank him and try to ignored the weirdness of wearing a dead lady's clothes. But when I see her wardrobe, that thought is out the window. Her jeans fit me wonderfully, and feel so much better than Dean's, which I'd been having to tug up every thirty seconds to keep from falling off all day. Her shirts weren't overly stylish, but they were cute and comfortable, which is always my biggest concern. I pull out a white tank top and shrug it on. Again it fits perfectly, except maybe a little tight around the chest. I hunt through her closet until I find a pair of white tennis shoes, the only pair that fit – her feet are just a little bigger than mine.

Feeling refreshed, I tug my hair into a messy bun and head back downstairs, Dean's clothes folded neatly in my arms. Half way down the stairs, I pause, hearing Dean on the phone. "Sam? It's late." Dean's voice has changed, something softer in his tone than what I've heard the past couple days. Maybe pain? Worry?

Wait, wasn't Sam his brother? The one he didn't want to talk about? "So you're his vessel, huh? Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?" Dean asks. _Wait, Sam is Lucifer's vessel? As in, Lucifer is going to possess him?_

I poke my nose down another step, seeing Dean pace the living room, his expression a mix between void and sad. "What are you looking for? I guess I'm a little numb to earth shattering revelations at this point." He glances up the stairs, and I jump back up my step, praying he didn't see me. Why did he look over here? Did he see me? _You can't be serious, _my subconscious moans, _Are you really spying on him like a nosy child?_

_Shut up, _I tell her, then turn my attention back downstairs.

"What do you want to do about it?" Dean asks, but he sounds rhetorical, like he wasn't really asking. He pauses, listening to Sam on the other line. "Sam…" Dean mutters, weakly. Another pause, and Dean's face twists in disappointment. "Oh, so we're back to revenge then, are we? 'Cause that worked out so well before."

"So what? We're just going to walk back in and be the dynamic duo again?" Dean asks, his tone bitter. Again he pauses, listening to Sam. He rests his head in his hands, pinching the brink of his nose. Taking a heavy breath, he looks to the floor, hurt. "Look, Sam… It doesn't matter, whatever we do. You and me? We're the fire and oil in Armageddon. On that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere," he pushes his arm out, physically reacting to his words. "Stay away from each other for good." He adds, slowly.

_Fire and oil? _I wonder, _What does he mean? _I remember Dean saying that he didn't like what the angel's had planned for him, either. _Could he possibly be a vessel, too?_

"Fight it? Yeah, you're right, we can – but not together," Dean says, sounding like he doesn't even believe what he's saying. It's the first time since he's spoken to me that I don't believe him, either… and I don't even know his brother. "We're not _stronger _when we're together. I think we're weaker, because whatever we have – love, family, whatever it is – they're always going to use it against us. And you _know_ that."

_Oh, Dean… _I could feel my heart breaking for him, watching him lean back into the sofa, thoughtfully, his eyes giving way to all his conflicting and painful emotions, that even at this distance were clear as day to see. "No," he says, his voice regaining its lost confidence. "We're better off apart. We've got a better chance dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing if we just go our separate ways."

Another pause, and a pain-filled glance. "Goodbye, Sam," and he clicks his phone shut.

I wait a tick before coming downstairs, forcing an oblivious smile onto my face, "Here's your clothes," I say, offering them to him. "Thanks again for letting me wear them."

He nods, taking them. "Yeah, sure." He's here, talking to me, but he doesn't look like he's really _here. _Like now he's lost in his thoughts, a daze that has carried him far away. That conversation with his brother has really affected him, and I can tell that even though he told Sam they should stay away from each other, his heart screamed for the opposite. _No, _I think. _I might not know jack shit about what's going on between them, but I know he needs his brother._

I sit down next to Dean on the sofa. He doesn't move – just holding his clothes on his lap. "I have a little sister," I tell him, earning a half-interested glance. "We played on the same soccer team one year, and _oh lord, _did she _suck._" I think fondly of that little team, and how clearly she did _not _belong on it. She always fell, she couldn't kick straight, she couldn't carry the ball, and when she did, she fell over it half way down the field. One time she literally toppled over three of our own team mates right before a goal. Oh – and the only goal she ever scored was for the wrong team. "And amazingly enough, our team made semi-finals one year for a jr. championship. Everybody told me to get Sierra to stay home because she'd just make us slower, weaker, and disrupted our whole team strategy… They said she'd just make us lose."

Dean seemed to understand what I was trying to say, and asked half-heartedly, "Did she go?"

"Oh yeah," I relay, proudly, "I made sure we were both there early. You know why? _'_Cause_ screw those guys. _With us or against us, I don't care, even if I know Sierra sucks. She's my _sister_ – and we're a _team_. No matter how much she didn't belong on the field, she belonged with me."

His eyes connected with mine, reading me. Reading my words. I stared back earnestly, taking in those green orbs, thundering and raging with so much emotion that his expression failed to represent. "Did you win?" he asked slowly, turning his attention to his lap, thinking hard.

"She kicked the ball into one of our team mate's head, and gave him a concussion," I explained, laughing a little. "She tripped three times and slid under our own player, and gave him a raging nose bleed when he fell. She twisted her ankle, and managed to break the record for 'most out of bound kicks in under five minutes.'" Dean chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "We lost big time. Probably the most pathetic team to make a championship."

I lean back into the sofa, relaxing more. "But you know what? I wouldn't have wanted to lose with anyone else."

Dean stood up, and left the living room for the kitchen. I sighed, hoping I didn't upset him any further.

When he didn't come back, I was unfortunately left with my thoughts again. Thinking hard over the conversations I've had with Dean the past couple days, and what I just heard… well, Dean is Michael's vessel, and his brother, is Lucifer's. It makes sense in a poetic way, I suppose, that angelic brothers battled to the end once before, and they would do the same in these hurting human boys. And me? I'm an angel reject who loved them both.

Groaning, I try again to convince myself all of this is insanity, but the thought seems foreign now. The reality is, as much as I hate to admit it, that all of this – _whatever it is – _is happening, and I'm caught in the middle of it for something I did in a former life. And as shitty as that was, it's worse for these boys, because they literally have nothing to do with it. They did mess up in their past lives, they didn't ask for this… and yet here they are, doing their best to stop it.

I wonder what my parents are doing right now, other than being worried and disappointed in me? Sierra? Or my bridezilla bestie, who is now planning her wedding without me? I cringe at the thought of not standing by her on her wedding day, which was fast approaching. Best friends since first grade… well, I suppose the apocalypse would be the _only _thing that would keep me from being there with her. _Figures_…

I yawn, and slouch down in the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position. Bobby hadn't exactly made it clear where I would be sleeping tonight before going to bed himself. Until now, I didn't even think I was tired. But exhaustion hit me like a train, derailing my mind from legible thought or structured activity. Allowing my eyes to slide shut, I suddenly feel overwhelmingly comfortable on this old, smelly sofa.

…

"Selena, wake up," Dean barks, shaking me roughly. I shoot upward, surprised, and frankly, pissed.

"What?" I bark, smacking him away. He gives me a weird, annoyed look, then looks around the room, not knowing how to answer. I follow his gaze, realizing why he woke me like that. We were at Bobby's house, but…

Everything was covered in dust, and not just the "this place hasn't been cleaned in a while" dust, but the "this place hasn't seen human life in a while" dust. It looked completely abandoned, spider webs forming along the corners of walls and between furniture, holes scattered throughout the foundation, broken windows… the study looked like there was a fire a while back that never got cleaned up.

"Dean," I gasp, standing up to join him. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he breathes, looking just as confused as me. He walks forward, moving through the house slowly, carefully. I stay close, looking around. I'm starting to shake, confused and scared, of what might be happening. This felt like a damn horror movie… "Bobby?" Dean calls through the house. We both wait but hear no reply. "Bobby!" Dean shouts again, louder this time.

I catch sight of something in the corner of my eyes. Moving towards it, I feel my heart sink into my stomach. "Dean," I call, running my finger along it's wheel. It creaks with that small movement. Grabbing the handles, I lift the wheel chair from its fallen position, eyes locking onto the holes in the back rest, dried blood surrounding them. "Oh god," I gasp, hand over my mouth. _What's going on? He was here… just a few hours ago. This house was fine…_

"Damn it," Dean hisses. He stills for a moment, as if formulating a plan, then spins and heads back into Bobby's study. I follow him, watching as he pulls a dusty journal from a secret spot in Bobby's fireplace. He thumbs through it, then pulls out a photograph. He looks it over once, then holds it out for me to see.

"Camp Chitaqua?" I read, "Where's that?"

"I don't know," Dean replies, "I don't remember taking this picture. And, I mean," he looks back at it, "That's Cas, but it doesn't _look _like Cas." I sort of understand what he means – the Castiel who saved me looked so clipped and clean in his suit and trench coat, messy hair and crooked tie aside, but the Castiel in the picture was in jeans and a slogan t-shirt with wild hair and a scruffy face.

"Do you know anyone else in the picture?" I ask, "Other than Bobby, obviously."

Again he shakes his head, flipping the photograph over, where in small chicken scratch, the photograph was labeled: _Camp Chitaqua, MO. _Missouri, we guess. "Alright, let's get out of here," Dean says. I'm more than happy to comply, following behind him closely. Dean finds a working Sudan, hotwires it, and we're off.

As we approach the first town, Sioux Falls, I feel my hair stand on end. _Everything _looked abandoned. Homes and stores were burnt down, broken windows and missing doors on nearly each shop. Cars littered the streets, some crashed together, others with the doors left wide open, like the passengers had run out in a hurry. Trees had been blown over, and random spots throughout the town looked like they had caught fire and burn without care. Trash littered the streets, everything from food packages to empty bullet casings. "Dean, look!" I gasp, pointing out my passenger window. A woman lay dead, her corpse half rotten, against a gas station pump. I'm absolutely terrified by the sight.

Again I feel tears stinging my eyes, my hands and legs shaking, my heart thrashing, and my breathing become erratic. Did the apocalypse just happen overnight? It couldn't have… could it? "Calm down," Dean says gently, looking at me. I must've looked insane, panting, eyes wide, _horrified._

How is he so calm? Collected? Does he not see all of this? "What's happening, Dean?" I ask, weakly.

His expression softens, and he stops the car. "I don't know," he replies. There's a huge pile up of cars, and we can't drive around. "Just stay close, okay?" he orders, and I nod. _Consider us conjoined twins__**.**_

He climbs out of the driver door. Instead of getting out my own side, I scoot across the seats and climb out his side, too, shutting the door quietly behind me. Outside the car, I suddenly feel much more exposed and insecure. Any feelings of security or sanity, I left in that car, because now, feeling the chill of the empty air, the hum of absolute _nothing, _I feel myself about to explode in fear and hysteria.

Dean sees this and grabs my hand, this small action sending a wave of relief. "Hey, look at me," Dean says, and our eyes lock. Sharp green to warm brown, I feel the intensity of the safety that is _him. _"I need you to keep your head, okay? I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to find out. Until then, you need to _stay calm._" I nod, hanging on his every word, trying to focus on his hand gripping mine so tightly. _I'm not alone, _I tell myself, _Dean will take care of me._

Not letting go, he leads me around the cars and further down the street. _I feel like I'm in Resident Evil. _ I think, miserably, taking in the smell of smoke and blood, along with a distinct aroma I can't quite identify, but feels _stale_.

We make a left, down a street called Sunshine Ave., and I try to ignore the bitter irony. "Oh _shit,_" Dean mutters.

"What?!" I demand, looking left and right, panicking completely at those two little words. I follow his gaze to a wooden fence, and in large, sloppy graffiti, read the word: CROATOAN. "What?" I hiss again, smacking his shoulder for scaring me so badly.

"Croatoan," Dean reads.

"What's that?"

"It's a demonic virus," he relays, now looking in all different directions urgently. "It turns people into monsters. Spreads from blood to blood contact, so stay sharp."

_A…demonic virus? Those exist? _Again I try to focus on Dean's large hand, encasing mine, and the small sense of security that came with that. _If we survive this, I'm going to go ape shit on learning supernatural lore._

_Tink, tink, clunk. _Dean and I snap our attention to our left, where four men appear from around the corner, carelessly making noise. They eye us devilishly, a snake-like smile appearing on their faces. "Run," Dean orders, and we do.

He's so much faster than me, and I'm so thankful he has my hand, pulling me forward at his pace, because I'm nearly toppling over my own feet to keep up with him. Surely they would've caught me by now. My breathing is labored, and my legs begin to sting, but the adrenaline pumping through me refuses to allow me to stop.

Dean makes a sharp right, yanking me with him, and we're headed down an alley, the men still hot on our trail. Suddenly, _bangbangbangbangbang – _Dean tackles me to the ground, and I'm so confused, _what's going on?!_

Dean then slides forward, his body still on top of mine, carrying me forward with him. Someone is firing a machine gun. I can hear the men falling, shouting out in pain, but Dean's body is blocking my view. When he stands up, he lifts me up with him, pulling me close. We're standing in a small indention of a building, not wide enough to cover two people well, so he's pressing me tightly against his chest, attempting to take up the smallest space possible.

I burry my face into his chest, shutting my eyes tightly, shrinking as deeply into him as our bodies will allow. I can hear bullets cracking against the brick wall protecting us, some getting much too close for comfort. _Zip! _"Ah!" I gasp, feeling a sharp pain in my lower calf. I start to fall, and instantly, Dean flips us around, where now my back is against the wall, and his body is pressing hard against mine, almost like another thick wall, a barrier, protecting me.

The bullets die down, and a roar of a car drives off. I peek out, catching sight of the back end of the tank before it leaves. Dean releases his tight hold, but keeps his grip. "Did you get hit?" he asks, looking me up and down.

I nod, looking down at my left calf, which was soaking red through my jeans. The pain was intense, and filling my entire leg with a hot, sharp, throbbing sensation. "Okay, hold on," Dean orders. He slips one arm behind my back, the other under my knees, then lifts me from the ground. The pain persists, and I try agonizingly to contain my sobs.

Dean looks carefully before turning our next corner, then enters a small fishing shop, it's windows broken through, door hanging limply on one hinge. He sets me onto the register counter, then rushes down an aisle. I'm only alone for a second, but those seconds are agonizingly long. I'm looking in all directions, trying to scoot further down the register so my feet don't peek out through the small window for anyone else to see. What would I do now? I can't even run. Jesus, if anything I'll just slow Dean down. _I'm going to die._

Dean returns with a bottle of whiskey, a fishing wire, a small hook, a cloth, and duct tape. _Oh dear lord. _I think, knowing exactly where this is going. He lifts my jeans up slightly, examining my wound. "Good news," he says, not looking up. "Bullet went straight through."

"Yippee," I reply, bitterly, biting my lip.

He unscrews the lid to the whiskey and hands it to me. I offer a questionable look. He doesn't expect me to drink it, does he? This is sort of a time for me to be alert and focused, not tipsy and hazy. "Trust me," he says, "You'll want it."

I take it slowly, and he starts running the fishing line through the hook. The hook is _not _small. _Crap_ – I lift the bottle to my lips, downing a huge gulp. He takes the whiskey from me, and tells me it close my eyes. I do, and suddenly a searing hot pain fills my already throbbing wound. I muffle a scream in my hands, hot tears pouring from my eyes. But I keep them shut, because following the pain is another sharp pain, like he's slicing through me. I know he's stitching me up, and this is what's best, but I'd give anything to make him stop. At this point, I'd rather just bleed out.

"Almost done," he tells me, and I hear a small _tink _of the hook being set onto the counter. I open my eyes, only to catch him pouring the whiskey against my leg again, and that same hot sensation shakes the core of my being, slapping sanity in the face, bringing me again to the brink of hysteria. He puts a wash cloth on the wound, then duct tapes it around.

As he's wrapping the duct tape, I look around the register, trying to distract myself momentarily. The back wall was littered with Missing Persons flyers. So many faces, some smiling, others not, with short descriptions beneath them – how old they are, where they were last seen, and who to contact if they're found or see this. _God… there are hundreds of them…_

My eyes fall to the register, where a newspaper hangs half way over the keys. My eyes linger across the headline, **President Palin Defends Bombing in Huston. **_What the hell? _I reach for it, reading through the article, some mentions of the virus, but mostly of innocent men, women and children dying from government panic. Looking to the date, my heart falls in my chest, _August 1__st__, 2014._

"Dean, look at this," I hand him the paper as he rips the duct tape away from the roll, pressing it onto my leg in a final bandage. It only takes him a second to see what I was talking about, "August 1st, 2014?" he reads, "What the hell?"

"Dean… are we in the future?"

He looks around once more, outside to the empty, forgotten town, invested with demonic humans. "I…" he trails off, unsure. Part of me doesn't want him to answer.

"Can you walk?" he asks, turning his attention back at me, looking ever-focused again at the task at hand. "We can't stay here."

I look up at him, furious. Did he _really_ just ask me that? I could slap him – I _want _to slap him. "Can I _walk?_" I hiss. My entire leg feels limp. Aside from the _intense searing pain, _I can't feel my muscle. And you know what? That stitching job hurt worse than the damn bullet wound.

He rolls his eyes, then turns around, arms away from his side. "Get on," he orders. It takes me a minute to realize what he's talking about.

"You're not giving me a piggy back ride," I say, humiliated by the idea.

He shoots me an annoyed look, "That or walk. Choose." I feel small under his commanding tone, but I realize I'm being ridiculous, and this isn't the time or place.

Looking down at my leg again, I groan, awkwardly shifting my weight across the register, until both my legs are on either side of him. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, he places his hands under me, on my upper thighs, thumbs bordering on my ass, and lifts me from the counter. Once I've been lifted, my mind floods in memory of all the fatty foods I've ever consumed, and I wish I'd chosen fruit instead. Does he think I'm heavy? Fat?

_Really? _My subconscious scolds, _Everything that's happening, and you're worrying about your weight?_

He shifts me slightly, then bounces me further on his back, sending a sharp pain into my leg. I bite my tongue, trying to be strong, brave, but feeling utterly pathetic compared to Dean, who seems so thoroughly composed.

He steps out of the fishing store, looking both ways before heading down the street. We pass several car pile ups, and I try to imagine what could've possibly happened here, and then wonder _when _it happened. How long ago? More importantly, how did we end up here?

The road seems mostly clear by now, so Dean decides we should get a car. He hotwires a small SUV, then sets me in the back seat where I can stretch out my leg, then climbs into the driver's side door. Once we hit the highway, he starts fumbling with the radio, which is nothing but static. "That's never a good sign," he complains, roughly, then takes out his cell phone, waving it above him for signal that he apparently can't find.

"Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia," sounds an unfamiliar voice.

I scream, shocked by the unfamiliar man now riding shot gun out of nowhere. Dean jumps, too. I reach at the floor board, finding a boot, and chuck it at the stranger instinctively. It hits him with a soft thud, and he turns back to look at me irritably. I shrink under his intense gaze. "Nice to see you, too, Elizabeth."

_Elizabeth? Wait… is he…? _He's not crazed like those other men. In fact, he looks rather put together, not savage-like at all. He's balding, probably in his mid to late forties, wearing a nice suit, holding the paper casually.

"I thought I smelled your stink on this 'back to the future' crap," Dean grumbles, no longer alarmed. I relax a little, seeing Dean isn't worried.

The strange man acts like he doesn't even hear Dean, flipping through the paper, "It's certainly a buyer's market in housing," he flips the page again, "Let's see what's happening in sports – oh wait, that's right, no more sports. Congress revoked the right to group assembly… what's left of it anyway."

_What? Is he being serious? Is this really the future we have to look forward to?_

"Okay, good, great… You've had your jollies. Now send us back, you son of a bitch," Dean ordered, hotly.

"Oh you'll get back, all in good time," he replies, dryly, looking back over the paper casually. "We want you two to marinate for a little bit."

"Marinate?" Dean repeats, confused.

"Three days, Dean," the stranger says, much more seriously now, turning to look at Dean. "Three days to see where this course of action takes you." He turns to look back at me, "And for you to see what future you can look forward to without Michael."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean demands.

"It means your choices have consequences," he scolds, holding the paper up for Dean to see. "This is the future if you continue to say no to Michael," he turns the paper towards me, "_Both _of you need to surrender to him."

My heart leaps forward, scared. _Surrender to him? I thought I was his lost lover, or something? What am I surrendering?_ The stranger seemed to read my thoughts, "He won't wait for you forever, Elizabeth," he tells me, "And trust me, you're better off in Heaven by his side than down here with these…_filth_." He spits the word, looking at Dean distrustfully. Dean merely rolls his eyes.

I blink, and he's gone. "What the – " I gasp, leaning forward, examining the car fully. He's _gone. _Just like Castiel did… _He must've been an angel, too. _"Who was that?" I demand, hotly. _And who the hell does he think he is talking to us like that? _

"His name's Zachariah," Dean explains, his tone flat, obviously not enthused by the man. "And he's a world class douche."

"…He called me Elizabeth," I say quietly, thinking over his words. _You're better off in Heaven by his side. _Dean glances at me through his rear view, brows knitted together, trying to read me. I smile softly, reassuringly, "Moron," I bark, "My _name_ is _Selena_."

**Author's Note: I would like to thank nibbles131 for helping me brainstorm and proof reading my work. Thanks buddy! :3


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: Liquid Sunshine

**Chapter Title: **The End (Part Two)

**Summary**: In the moments of her birth, not a single person in the entire world died. Those within a fifty mile radius of her birth suffering from illness, terminal or otherwise, were healed. The blind were given sight, the deaf hearing, and the mute voices. Those who suffered from handicaps were healed – the paralyzed could move, the comatose awoke, and the mentally ill cured. It was known to the town as the Miracle Moment, but to the angels, it was known as prophecy. Meet Selena Swan – weakness to heaven and hell alike. Dean vs. Castiel vs. Sam.

**Story Rating**: M for language, sexual content and violence.

**Chapter Rating**: M for language.

*Selena's POV*

We found it on a half-burnt road map, but the place where this _Camp Chitaqua _was supposed to be was just an area over grown with brush. The turn-in was literally blocked by a fallen tree, leaving us to walk. Well, for Dean to walk, and me to limp. I hobbled with one arm around him, trying not to trip over the roots, various tall plants, or random trash.

Moving forward, we stepped into our first half-clearing, where we met a metal fence with barb wire along the top. Keeping silent, we peeked through, seeing the two unfamiliar men from the photograph walking by, rifles in hand. They were talking to each other casually about something I couldn't understand, then turned to walk past a few broken down cars, and an abandoned building, until out of sight. We kept completely silent.

When the coast was clear, Dean and I followed along the fence until we found a small hole near the bottom. Dean slid under it first, and I follow. It's much harder than I imagined with a hurt leg – the fence tugs on my jeans, and I can't even wiggle my leg to release it. Instead, I'm fiddling with the wire, trying silently to unhook myself.

"Oh baby, no," I hear Dean say, walking away from me. I follow him with my eyes, irritated that he's leaving me instead of helping, not that there was really anything he could do, in the position that I was in. He's walking towards a car, and It takes me a minute to recognize it as his own. That black Impala – his treasure. "Oh baby, what did they do to you?" he groans, leaning down to look inside.

_Damn it! _I curse inwardly, focusing on my leg again, my jeans tearing further on the wire. _Fuck it! _I think, tearing my jeans through completely to unhook myself. I slide the rest of the way through, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pain of having my leg slide across the dirt. "Dean?" I call, shifting my weight on my arms to stand up. I grab the fence to help me lift my body from the ground, then struggle two hops closer to Dean, when…

_THUMP. _I freeze, watching Dean's body fall. _Oh my god. _My heart skips a beat, my breath hitching in my throat. Someone is standing over Dean, looking down on him. I can't see his face – his back is to me. His shoulders are broad, his back straight. He turns his gaze, looking around. I drop down, out of eye sight, but unfortunately smack against the fence, causing it to jingle. _Damn it! _I think, suppressing a scream.

He heard me, and now he's walking towards me…

He's… _what the hell? _He looks exactly like Dean, except… maybe a little older? And he's dressed differently, his expression is hard and unreadable. _Wait… is that? _"Dean?" I ask, _Dean from the future?_

His eyes snap onto me, and immediately they turn from cold and hard to wide and confused. Mouth slack, he suddenly looks rigid, unsure, lost. I look into his eyes, green intensity, full of raw, instinctual reaction, and all the emotion that came with _whatever _it was that he was feeling, too conflicting to read on his face, no matter how expressive. But just as quickly as before, his expression changed to hate. He pulled a flask from his jacket, and flung water on me in a violent swing. _What the hell?_

I wipe it off my face, looking up at him again, confused and a little annoyed. _Was that necessary_? He stills again, then pulls a knife from behind. _Holy shit! _He marches towards me, looking furious, and I'm too scared to scream as he pushes me into the ground and slices across my upper arm. "Ouch!" I hiss, looking at the cut, then back at him. Again he looks confused. _Is he infected? Is he going to infect me? _I remember Dean telling me about the blood to blood contact for infection, but…

"S-Selena…?" he pauses, looking confused. _Okay, so he's not a monster? That's good._

"Who the fuck else would it be?" I snap, pushing him off. I look at my arm – it wasn't terribly deep, but _goddamn it _I'm so sick of getting hurt! That giant bruise on my stomach, bullet wound in my leg, and now knife wound on my arm… _fucking fantastic!_

I look back up at Dean, who looks like he's been kicked in the gut. Breathlessly, he reaches out to me, cupping my face. It's a surprisingly affectionate motion, and instantly makes me blush, freeze. His rough thumb moves across my cheek, so tenderly that I feel like I could melt and scream all at once. I don't think I've ever been touched so meaningfully before, but at the same time it was _weird_.

His eyes glimmered with water, his expression a mixture of joy and sorrow. It felt like one of those movie moments where two people are reunited, except I'm missing half the story line. I'm so confused. _What's happening?_

He leans forward, so quickly and urgently that I don't have time to react. His lips lock onto mine, moving against them in a passionate frenzy, _need. _I go stone-cold rigid, frozen in place, shocked with eyes wide in disbelief. _What the hell! _He pulls back, only slightly, opening his eyes, looking at me through clouded lenses, oblivious to my inaction in the kiss. "How…?" he breaths, attempting to compose himself.

Brows knit together, I pull my face away from his hand. He looks disconcerted with the action, and I try to ignore the look of pain that sweeps across his face. "I-I don't know what's going on," I admit, lamely, quietly. My eyes flash over to unconscious Dean – _my _Dean – then back at _this _Dean, who I begin to realize more and more looks so unfamiliar compared to the Dean I know.

This Dean follows my action, looking behind him, then back at me as if he was just remembering where he was, what was happening. Once again he looks angry, but this time mixed with something else. Roughly he grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet. To keep balance, I accidentally put weight on my hurt leg, and yelp in pain, falling forward.

Dean catches me, anger forgotten, suddenly filled with concern again. "What happened?" he demanded, looking me over, then adds in a small voice, "Did a Croat…?"

_What's a Croat? _"I got shot…" I explain, weakly, keeping my leg up. The pain, the stress… this whole damn situation is dizzying. I want to let go of him, but I'm afraid I'll fall if I have any less support than his strong arm wrapped around me, his broad chest to lean into. But at the same time, _he just kissed me! _And it feels wrong.

I barely know past Dean at all, so kissing future Dean felt almost dirty. Like kissing a stranger and knowing his brother, or…something. I don't even know how to explain it to myself. I mean, sure, he was hot, but Dean was the _last _person I'd ever try to make something with, have a _future _with. His life, _this _life, was _not _for me. My life was that of a simple civilian, oblivious to the supernatural, not fighting it, struggling, surviving. My worries consisted of forgetting milk when I went to the grocery store, or missing my exit on the highway. Not time travel, not ass hole angels, not _monsters_…

The next thing I know, I'm being swept into his arms, bridal style, and carried towards the Impala and past Dean's unconscious form. He sets me gently onto the hood, looking at my leg. "Dean – er, you, um, he – " I fumble awkwardly, not really knowing what pronoun to use, "stitched me up already. Which was _hell _by the way."

He traces his hand over the cloth and duct tape, a completely ghetto combination I never thought I'd see on myself. Ever. Especially since I was a _nurse_. Looking back up at future Dean, I catch him staring at me again. He looks lost, confused, pained, relieved… I don't know. "Lena," he breaths, his voice strained, "What happened to you?"

I pause, unsure how I feel about him using my nickname. Only my parents, Sierra and my closest friends got to use that nickname. I was Selena, or Miss. Swan, Nurse Swan, whatever – but not _Lena. _But the way he said it was so endearing, it sounded right coming from his lips.

_What happened to me? _I start to worry. _Who am I in this future? What happened, or will happen, to me? _I fidget, nervously. _What kind of relationship do I have with Dean in the future?_

I try to reason. What would my Dean, past Dean, want me to say? "I don't know," I reply, quietly. "But I don't think I'm who you think I am. Not… now, anyway…"

He looks down at past Dean, then to me. "Who is that?" he asks, more guarded now by my answer.

"He's you, I think," I explain. Future Dean looks unconvinced. He takes out that flask again, and splashes water onto past Dean. _Why does he keep doing that? _When nothing happened, he took out his knife again, and sliced a cut across past Dean's forearm. Again nothing happened. _Maybe future Dean is crazy? _I wonder, but keep my mouth shut in fear of looking like an idiot.

Future Dean looks wary, considering whether or not he will trust me, trust us. "What do you mean he's me?" he demands, then starts patting Dean down. He pulls a lock pick from his pocket, followed by a switch blade. He pauses, examining the objects, then lifts Dean's right jean and finds a knife, recognition flashing in his eyes.

"We're from the past," I tell him, quietly. "This angel, um…"_What was his name again? _"Zach-something, he sent us into the future."

"Zachariah?" Dean clarifies, eyes wide. Urgently he adds, "Where is he? I want to talk to him."

"I don't know," I answer, my voice small. _I don't know anything about anything!_

He looks back over to past Dean, then to me. "Come on," he barks, sounding much less affectionate. He lifts past Dean up, throwing him over his shoulder like dead meat. On his other side, he helps me off the car, supporting most of my weight on his side. I'm thoroughly impressed by his strength, especially since he doesn't look like he's even struggling.

We sneak into a small cabin, where Dean throws past Dean onto the floor, and handcuffs him to a wooden pole. "Don't you trust yourself?" I ask, sitting down in one of the chairs.

He looks at me and smirks, "Not a bit." He moves across the cabin, and pulls a tool kit from a cabinet. Setting it onto the table, he pulls out a first aid wrap and a small container of whiskey. _Oh great. _Getting on his knees, he lifts my foot to rest on his upper leg, so he can focus on my calf. Unwrapping the tape gently, he asks, "From the past, huh?"

"I think so," I reply, my voice small. I feel heat rise to my cheeks, feeling his fingers brush across my leg.

"What year?" he asks, not looking up as he peels the bloody rag from my wound. He looks so focused, but at the same time so far away. I take a moment to notice the length of his hair – slightly longer, messier, with traces of grey sprinkled throughout, only to be noticed with extreme scrutiny. Heavy bags lay under his eyes – eyes that were narrowed slightly, but shined with dark precision and bitter wisdom. But overall, he looked like he was struggling, fighting some kind of battle just beneath his skin, trying desperately not to let it show.

"November of 2009," I tell him, voice small, tracing the line of his jaw with my eyes, noticing a small scar behind his ear.

He freezes at my answer, looking up, eyes a little wider with surprise. "So then, you just met me, er… him."

I nod. Dean looks like he's at a loss for words, lips parted ready to speak, but nothing coming out. What could he be thinking? He looked so… _everything _when he saw me. Happy, sad, lost, relieved, torn, confused… _everything. _Whatever future this is, whoever I am, or become, to him, to Dean… it's _something. _Hell, maybe it's everything, too. I have no idea what, but the fact that there was something was abundantly clear. So what do you say to someone like that? Someone who means something but doesn't know you yet? A warning? An apology? A goodbye?

He looks back down, silently, painfully, and begins to wrap the ace bandage around my leg. When he's done, he moves around the cabin, collecting a duffle bag and many guns and ammo. Behind us, past Dean grunts, and wakes.

I feel a wave of relief wash over me as his eyes open, like suddenly I'm not alone. And I know that even though he's cuffed to that pole, and future Dean is holding assault rifles and hand guns and machine guns and _god knows what else, _I feel safer now that Dean is awake. I feel like I'm with something familiar, no matter how small, and it's comforting.

"What the hell?" Dean says, eyes locking with his older self.

"I should be asking that, don't you think?" future Dean barks, "How about you give me one good reason why I shouldn't gank you right here and now?"

_What the hell?_

I watch, the air suddenly thicker. "Because you'd only be hurting yourself," Dean jokes lightly, one hand up in surrender.

"Very funny," future Dean replies sarcastically, setting his gun onto the table with a hard thump, as if warning him how close and heavy the object really is.

"Look man," Dean says, "I'm no demon, or shape shifter, or any of that," he looks over at me, "neither of us are."

"I know – I did the drill while you were out. Silver, holy water… nothing." Inwardly I squeal in sudden understanding – _so that's what he was doing! _I pat myself on the back for catching on quickly. "But you know what was funny? You had every lock pick, switch blade and knife that I carry." Future Dean glances at me, then back at Dean, "Now she says you're from '09, so if that's true…" he leans in, testing his past self, reading him, "Tell me something only I would know."

Dean looked thoughtful, eyes rolling upward in deep though, then smirks, leaning in, "Ronda Hurley," he says, and future Dean look confused for a second, then quirks in remembrance, "We were, uh, nineteen," he continues, "She made us try on her panties. They were pink, and silky… and you know what?" he pointed back and forth between the two of them, "We kind of liked it."

…_WHAT?! _I'm laughing uncontrollably before I'm even able to think about containing it. Both men look my way, past Dean's eyes narrowed in annoyance, future Dean's cheeks flushes in embarrassment. I grab my stomach, pained, as the laughter spills out, causing a sharp cramp in my side from the lack of oxygen. _Oh my god! _This words replay through my mind, that embarrassing truth that I _never _would've guessed about Dean.

"Alright, alright," future Dean mutters, grabbing one more gun on the table. My laughter slows, the situation becoming more serious, but the thought still bubbling in the back of my mind, ready to burst open in more hysterical laughter. "So what? Zach zapped you to the future to see how bad it gets?"

"Yeah, I guess…"

Future Dean loads another gun and puts it inside the duffle bag, already nearly full. _What is he doing? Where is he going? _I want to ask, but I stay silent, feeling like I'd interrupt something. _There's too much Dean in here…_

"Croatoan virus? That's their end game?"

"It's efficient, it's incurable, and it's scary as hell. Turns people into monsters. Started hitting the major cities a few years back. The world really went to the crapper after that." As I sit here, I'm trying to take it all in. Essentially I'm being told the zombie apocalypse is going to happen, which should be scary as hell, but for whatever reason it wouldn't sink in. It felt too unreal, too _impossible._

"What about Sam?" Dean asked earnestly, eyes giving way to his undeniable concern for his little brother. He seemed to hold his breath, waiting, worried…

Future Dean paused, going rigid. He tossed a blank stare towards his past self, a mixture of pain and anger on his face. Looking down, he licked his lips and took a slow breath, thinking. Finally he looks up, his expression lacking any emotion, "Heavy weight show down in Detroit. From what I understand, Sam didn't make it," and for some reason I don't believe him. _He's lying._

Past Dean's eyes widen, taken back, "You weren't with him?"

"No… Me and Sam, we haven't talked in…hell, five years." He says, looking back down at his guns, fumbling with the handle, a small action that showed exactly how uncomfortable he was. But past Dean… he looked absolutely wrecked. I think back to the phone conversation they had last night, and know he's doing the same. The memories of his tone, his complete rejection, his absolute…

"We never tried to find him?" Dean asked, but he sounded like he was almost begging.

Future Dean looked at me, our eyes locking for a short, intense second. I felt my heart tighten, my stomach drop. Eyes still locked on mine, mirroring that of regret, he says, "No. We had other people to worry about." _Me? _I wonder, _Is he talking about me?_

Past Dean looks at me then back to future Dean suspiciously. I suddenly feel guilty under his judging gaze for kissing future Dean, or rather, being kissed. For knowing that there was _something _going on, but having no idea what, and being too embarrassed to try and explain.

Future Dean throws his duffle bag over his shoulder, "Whoa, where you going?" past Dean demands.

"I've got to go run an errand," he replies, shortly.

"You're just going to leave us here?" Dean demands, gesturing to his handcuffs.

"Yes!" Future Dean barks, making me jump a little. Neither seem to notice. "I've got a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an _apocalypse _hanging over their heads. The last thing they need is to see a version of the parent trap," he looks over to me, "or ghosts of past."

_Ghosts of past? _I'm not familiar with the movie, but I understand the implication. I feel like I've been hit with a ton of bricks, but at the same time completely numb. "I'm dead?" I manage to squeak before future Dean exits. He pauses, looks back at me, clearly mentally cursing himself for letting that slip. Past Dean looks back and forth between the two of us, waiting for future Dean to correct me. He doesn't.

"I'll be back soon. Sit tight."

And he's gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: Liquid Sunshine

**Chapter Title: **The End (Final)

**Summary**: In the moments of her birth, not a single person in the entire world died. Those within a fifty mile radius of her birth suffering from illness, terminal or otherwise, were healed. The blind were given sight, the deaf hearing, and the mute voices. Those who suffered from handicaps were healed – the paralyzed could move, the comatose awoke, and the mentally ill cured. It was known to the town as the Miracle Moment, but to the angels, it was known as prophecy. Meet Selena Swan – weakness to heaven and hell alike. Dean vs. Castiel vs. Sam.

**Story Rating**: M for language, sexual content and violence.

**Chapter Rating**: T

***Author's Note: Sorry about how long this chapter took. I had some personal problems, so the story was put on hold for a while, and then when I did finally finish it, my internet crashed. If any of you are shopping – don't get CentryLink. Seriously. They suck.

*Selena's POV*

"Do you see anything small?" Dean asked, "Like a paperclip or a nail?"

Looking around, the cabin was all but spotless. Or maybe it was only clean because it was virtually empty? _Something small. _Well, I wasn't going to find that sitting here. Grudgingly, I pull myself from the chair, and hobble over to one of the counters, scanning it. When I found nothing, I scrambled through a few drawers. The first was full of eating utensils – forks, knives, spoons, etc. Well, not exactly _full. _There were two forks, one spoon and one knife, but I go the idea. The second held ammo – interesting combination. The third looked more like a junk drawer – likely my best bet.

I combed through it, shoving aside the lighters, pens, and other random objects. At the bottom, I found a lock pick, sitting next to a photograph. Turning, I toss the lock pick to Dean and my eyes return to the picture. It's a picture of me – kind of. My hair is cut differently, and frankly, I like it. Maybe I'll cut it like that when I get home.

But my hair wasn't the stand-out part of this photo. I'm standing next to Dean, arms wrapped around his torso, head back in mid-laughter. Dean is smiling too, looking down at me with an expression of unmistakable, clear fondness. One hand wrapped around me, resting at the small of my back, the other laying on my enormous, obviously pregnant belly.

Pulling the photo out, I notice another beneath it. This one is also of me, but with the angel Castiel. He's staring at me, brows knit together, jaw tight in adorable confusion. I'm laughing at something outside of the picture, but I'm holding Castiel's arm, leaning on him, my body language reading nothing but comfort. Again, I notice an unmistakable bump on my stomach, where I'm likely three or four months pregnant.

The next photo I wasn't pregnant, and I looked younger than the other pictures. Hell, I looked like me now. I was thrown over the shoulder of an unfamiliar man with messy brown hair and dark eyes. He was tall, broad, and had kind eyes. My face was that of surprise, hanging onto his shirt for dear life, while he seemed to be howling in laughter. Dean was also in the photograph, but standing off to the side, bent over in a fit of laughter.

The last photo was awkwardly angled, causing the picture to be crooked. Dean and I had our heads leaned together, both smiling. Neither of us looked like we were at our best – Dean looked dirty, sweaty, and had a patch of dried blood in his hair. I looked tired, my hair a wild mess and dark rings under my eyes. Sleeping in my arms were two tiny infants wrapped in white blankets with a little blue hats.

My heart swelled at the sight. _That is, or will be, my children? _I realize. The babies is absolutely beautiful – soft skin, chubby cheeks, and _so tiny. _I wish they wasn't sleeping so I could see the color of their eyes. "What are you doing?" Dean asks, appearing behind me.

I jump, startled by his voice, shoving the pictures back into the drawer in surprised interruption. "Nothing," I squeak, slamming the drawer shut.

Dean gives me a funny look but drops it. "You coming or what?" he asks, holding his hand out for me to take.

"Where are you going?" I demand. What _could _he do? As far as I can tell, hanging tight at Camp Chitaqua was our best bet… no matter how weird it is.

"I'm gunna go find Cas to zap us back to our own page on the freakin' calendar," he says, "So you coming?"

I shake my head, knowing I'll just slow him down. Besides, Dean might be able to pass as his future self, but if someone saw me, what would they think? Walking dead? Ghost? Would they be happy or scared? Regardless, my leg hurts. "I'll wait," I opt, "Just come back for me."

He offers a curt nod and leaves, the door creaking behind him. Watching him go, I wonder how the hell I could fall for him, or him for me. He seems so blasé about me, and frankly, aside from being drop dead sexy, I don't see anything romantically appealing about him. I always thought my type was more, well, romantic. You know – candle lit dinners, long walks on the beach, flowers, _manners. _Not a rugged, supernatural slayer.

I open the drawer again, looking down at the awkwardly angled photo where Dean and I both look like hell. Despite that, we look so _happy. _

Shuffling at the door startles me, but I move too slowly to hide before an unfamiliar face enters. I stand frozen, scared, wondering what he would do. The moment he sees me he seems to jump three feet in the air, letting out a girly wail before scattering backwards until his back hits the wall. "S-Selena?" he squeaks, looking me up and down. "B-But y-you…"

"An angel zapped me into the future," I blurt out, hoping an explanation might calm him. The last thing I need is someone running from this cabin screaming. I'd have a bullet in me before I could blink. "I'm Selena Swan from November of 2009. I'm sorry, but I don't know who you are, and you probably don't know me, or at least, not _this _me."

He pauses, eyes still staring at me like saucers. He's short for a middle aged man, with dark messy hair and five o'clock shadow. "O-Oh…" he breaths, "I-I guess that makes sense." _It does? _I look at him like he's crazy. _What part of that makes sense? I'm living it and it doesn't make any freaking sense! _"2009?" he repeats, shakily, pealing himself from the wall. I nod slowly, since he looks so skittish. "Um, well, hi, I guess."

_Hi? _"Hi," I offer. We both stand in awkward silence, him staring at me, me staring at him. "Um, I don't know your name?"

"Chuck," he answers quickly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. "We meet in, uh, 2010. I'm the, um, prophet."

I take a deep breath and roll my eyes. _Jesus Christ – what has happened to my life? _I take a seat back into the chair and throw my face into my hands. _This can't be happening. _Chuck peals himself off the wall, and moves towards me slowly, taking each step with intense hesitation. He looks at a loss for words, and I can't blame him. What do you say to the ghost of Christmas past? "Has Dean seen you yet?" he finally asks, carefully.

"He's the one who found me," I reply, quietly, then realize this would be a good chance for answers. Who better than a prophet, right? "What's with us? Or, I guess, what _will _be with us? He's so…" I search for the right word, but my vocabulary completely fails me. "I don't know. Bipolar."

Chuck looks down, thoughtfully, "Well, I mean, I can't imagine seeing his dead soul mate made things easy for him," he answered with a small shrug, "I think I might wig out a little, too, if I were him."

I nod mechanically, trying to understand. I can imagine, I suppose, but all of this is too weird, too unreal, to sympathize accurately. I suppose in a way, I don't care. I just want it to be different. For starters, I'd like to be alive five years from now. And this future isn't exactly what I had in mind for myself, let alone humanity. "Chuck, what happened? The angel guy said he was sending us to the future to change it – tell me what happens, _please._"

Chuck takes a heavy sigh, "Well, I guess if anyone can change things, it's you…" I wonder what he means by that, but I decide not to interrupt him. "You're up to date on the Michael and Lucifer battle, right?" I shake my head – I know _nothing. _"Okay, well, Michael and Lucifer want to have a battle on Earth, and Dean and Sam are the vessels they will use to fight. But they need Dean and Sam's consent to take control of them. Sam says yes, Dean says no."

"Why doesn't Dean say yes and get it over with?"

"Because if Dean had said yes, millions of people would've died in the battle. He thought there had to have been a better way."

"Was there?"

Chuck motions outside, "He didn't find one."

I nod, soberly. "Why did Sam say yes?"

Chuck frown, brows knit together in a look of broken sadness and anger. Hesitantly he says, "to save you."

_What? I don't even know the guy… he…_

"Biggest mistake of his life was when he decided that your life was worth more than the lives of six billion others," Chuck adds, softly, "but I bet if you asked him today, he'd say the only mistake was that Dean couldn't protect you afterwards."

Time seemed almost frozen. The air thick, movement slow. My heart's heavy beats echoed in my ears, a sort of stilling sound that prickled my skin. I can find no words to match that statement, no understanding. _Dean's brother sacrificed the world to… save me? _I can't even fathom such a thing. How could my life be worth so much to _anyone_? And those pictures… I got the impression that Dean and I became something? And didn't he just say I was Dean's dead soul mate?

Realization dawns on me. _Oh my god. My future self played love triangle with Sam and Dean, just like my past self did with Michal and Lucifer! _"I'm doomed to be an eternal home wrecker," I mutter, angry with myself.

"What?" Chuck asks, not hearing me.

"Nothing…" I pause, "Um, I found some pictures of Dean's… do I have," I swallow, not knowing if I want to hear the answer, "a baby?"

Chuck's jaw tightens. "You _had _a babies," he clarifies tightly. Once more, I feel my heart drop in thundering sadness. "Twins – a boy and a girl."

"What happened to them?" I ask bravely, but almost wish he wouldn't answer the moment the question leaves my mouth. How am I supposed to return to a past knowing how my children die? I always knew I wanted to be a mother, but not one that would outlive her young. Or hell, maybe I wouldn't… I'm destined for death, too, aren't I?

"…You don't want to know." He replied, tightly.

"Maybe I could prevent it," I demand, desperately. "If I knew…"

Chuck looks hesitant, and for a moment, I swear I see a tear threaten the corner of his eye before he swipes it away. "The camp was ambushed. They were taking a nap in the cabin, while you and Dean were having lunch in the mess hall…" Chuck's voice went low, hesitant and sad. "You and Dean fought your way back to the cabin as fast as you could, but… when you got there…"

He stopped, turning away from me. Arms crossed over his chest, he steadied himself from his memory… my memory… "Dean was holding them off outside so you could get them, but…" again he paused, shifting his weight between his legs. "The Croats had already gotten inside and _changed_ them." He blurted out.

A sob escapes me before I can stop it. It's _so much worse _than I ever could've imagined. "They killed you, because you couldn't kill them...and Dean, when he got inside and saw what happened –

_Oh my god. _

"_He had to kill his own son and daughter to stop them from killing his wife…_but it was too late."

Just then the cabin door opens, and past Dean is shoved violently through by future Dean. "What the hell was that?" future Dean demands, shooting death glares towards his former self. He slams his bag onto the table, oblivious to Chuck and I, eyes locked hotly with his clone. I swipe the tears from my eyes, trying to regain my composure.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demands, "You just shot a guy in cold blood!" he motions towards the door, his face mirroring disgust.

"We were in an open quarantine zone. Got ambushed by some Croats on the way out," future Dean explained hotly. _Got ambushed by some Croats. _The phrase shakes me to the core, hearing those words come from him.

Past Dean gave him a questioning look, to which future Dean quickly added, irritably, "Croats! Croatoans!" Hands on his hips, he interjects, raging, "Yager got infected. I started noticing signs about a half hour ago. It wouldn't have been long before he turned. I didn't see the point of troubling a good man with bad news."

"Troubling? You just shot him in cold blood in front of your own people!" past Dean roared accusingly. I watch past Dean with scrutiny – if only he knew…"Don't you think that freaked 'em out a little?"

"It's the year _2014_!" Future Dean barked, loudly, seeming to shake the room with his anger. His temper was actually very frightening, "Shooting a Croat is called _common place,_" he spat the word distastefully, "Trading words with my clone? _That might've freaked them out a little!_"

_Common place. _Was that what he thought when he shot his children? That they were just _Croats_? Or is that what he tells himself to cope with it? I know it's the truth, but being able to distinct between the two seems impossible in my eyes… and apparently my future self, too.

He turned, sighing heavily. His eyes landed on Chuck and I for the first time, but before he could say anything, Chuck bounced up – jumpy little thing. "I'll just go," he volunteered, practically flying out the doors. Both Dean's rolled their eyes.

"This isn't your year, it's mine. So when I say stay in, _you stay in!_" Future Dean barked, finalizing the argument. Past Dean looked towards me warily. I give him a soft glare, begging him to back down and let it go. He rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, an action I recognized as his nervous tick when he's stressed out.

"Look man, I'm sorry," Dean offered, warily.

Deciding to change the subject, I ask, "What was the errand?"

Future Dean, who looked like he was trying to pretend I wasn't there, retreated to his bag. "I was looking for this." He pulled out a classic-looking gun. Maybe a collectable? It didn't look like much.

"The colt?" Dean asked.

"Tonight, I'm gunna kill the devil."

"What's the colt?" I ask, eyeing the thing. It looks more like a toy than a real gun. But then again, that angel blade that Castiel had looked like a toy, too, and it as one of the deadliest weapons I'd ever laid eyes on.

"The colt is the only gun on earth that can kill a demon," past Dean explained.

I raised a brow, "But… Lucifer is _technically_ an angel, right?"

Both men offered me a blank stare, and I wasn't sure if it was because I stupefied them, or if they just thought I was stupid. I try to ignore it – it's not like I'm supernaturally literate! "It's the strongest weapon we've got," future Dean said, moving across the cabin. He took out three glasses and poured three shots of whiskey.

Future Dean handed his past self and me a glass, holding it high in a sad, silent toast. A moment of pause, and past Dean drowns it, too.

Future Dean steals a glance at me, expression soft and sad, but tight and rigid at the same time. I can't fathom how painful it must be for him to see me now, and I wish he never had. _He had to kill his own son and daughter from killing his wife. _Chuck's words rang loudly in my mind.

Sam sacrificed the world to save me, and Dean killed his own children – or, what used to be his children. I couldn't decide which was more tragic. All I knew was this man loves a me that doesn't exist yet, or anymore in this time.

Both Dean's left to rally the troops, while I was left in the cabin alone once again, with my leg propped up on a chair. Miserable thoughts circled through my mind, thinking of everything Chuck had told me. Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes whenever I thought about how horrible it must've been for Dean, or for how horrible it would have been for me to die by the hands of my own babies.

Castiel enters first. Well, he more stumbles, and when he sees me, freezes. He looks dirty and unkempt – not at all like the last time I'd seen him. "Um… did Dean tell you?" I ask, wondering if I need to explain myself.

He nods, slowly, approaching me. Once beside me, he falls to his knees to be at eye-level with me, since I'm sitting in a chair. His hand reaches up to brush my cheek – such an affectionate motion that I'm startled severely. The Castiel I knew was the one who barged into my apartment and killed angels and demons without mercy.

"Lena, I'm _so sorry…_" I haven't the slightest idea what he's apologizing for, but I feel like I shouldn't say anything. He knows that I don't know what he's sorry for, but he obviously needs to say it. "Listen to me," he insists, "When Michael appears to you – _go with him._"

_What? _"I don't understand…"

His eyes are fierce, blue orbs that send chills down my spine, electrifying his words. "The angels – they _left_. Heaven is _gone. _I don't know where they went, but it has to be a better place than this," he tears his eyes away from mine, looking to the floor, "You would've been safe with them."

I suddenly feel outraged. "So what? I just leave for the rest of your to rot?" I demand, hotly. "Just tuck tail and run while the rest of you suffer? No thank you. I might be scared, Castiel, but I'm not a coward. Just because heaven was Elizabeth's home, doesn't mean it's mine. I don't know what part I'm going to play in all of this, or if there's anything I can do to help, but _this future _isn't going to happen on my watch. Got it?"

The words are flying from my mouth before I even realize what I'm saying, but the more I say, the more passionate I feel. I'm the fallen angel of an archangel's lover. I'm a nurse from Oregon. I don't know what I'm capable of, but I know that this will be my future if I don't try.

Castiel stands, face shadowed by his messy hair, "_You have no idea what you're saying._" He barks, ominously, then eyes light up to mine. They look sad and broken, "Michael made you happy once," his voice is tight, like it's hard for him to admit it, or maybe it's because it's a lie… "And he'll be able to keep you safe."

"I don't want to be safe if it means that everyone I've ever loved and cared about aren't." I finalize, voice low, confident. I meant it.

Future Dean enters, and when he sees Cas, eyes narrow in suspicion. "Think I could have a minute with her, Cas?"

Castiel nods, offering me a final desperate look, then leaves. I force myself up into the standing position, carrying all my weight on my good leg. Once Cas is gone, future Dean approaches me. "We're headed out in five," he tells me, moving close. His eyes dance across mine, full of so much emotion it weakens me.

"Lena…" he begins, voice tearing. "You were the best thing that had ever happened to me," a tear escapes him, "_I love you, _and I'm _so sorry _I pushed you away for so long. I'm _so sorry _I couldn't protect you."

The sincerity in his words, the emotion radiating off of him, it was all so much to bear… How is it that my future self has this profound connection to him, when Dean and I seems to blasé about each other? What changed? What _will _change? How did the Dean I know go from being himself, to being to madly in love with me?

I felt this intense need to calm him – to make him feel better somehow. He was about to face the devil – I wish he wouldn't go with such a heavy burden on his heart. But I don't know what to do. What can I say? Do I hug him? _Kiss_ him? "Kiss me." He demands, softly. "Please."

I do. I bring my lips forward, pausing only an inch away. Part of me wants to – hell, a _huge _part of me wants to, knowing how much he cares for me, knowing how much I'll mean to him, but in a way, this feels _wrong. _I'm not the Selena he loves, not the Selena that has mothered his children, or even the Selena he tried to save. The Selena he's fooling himself to believe he's kissing is dead, and I'm nothing more than a sad replacement. That realization hits me hard.

But the sincerity of everything he's said to me, everything we become…how can I resist something so powerful? So meaningful? And, maybe, so what if I'm not the Selena he cares for? In a future as miserable as this, is it so bad that I let him believe for a small second that he's with the one he loves? Is it so terrible that I want to be her?

I breathe in his sent, which is nothing like the Dean I know. Old leather, whiskey and pine – no, this man smells like smoke, gun powder and dried bark. The smell is tragic, but intoxicating at the same time. I lean forward, the smallest bit, but it's enough to close that tiny gap between us. Closing my eyes, I welcome the darkness, and allow my body to do the exploring.

His lips are rough and lightly chapped, but glide across mine with strong grace. Dancing against mine, I feel a fire build in the pit of my stomach, my limbs becoming increasingly restless in his grasp. His grasp on my face tightens, while his other hand snakes around my back, tugging me closer to him, our bodies pressed so firmly together it's almost magnetic. Instinctually I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling his face closer, our lips tighter.

His tongue tenderly, hesitantly, traces my bottom lip, which I graciously accept. Parting my lips slightly, his tongue soars into my mouth, dancing, flickering against my own. Wet and warm, I note that he holds the faint taste of alcohol in his breath, mixed with something unfamiliar but undeniably sweet.

I can feel him struggling to hold back, the urgency and need overpowering his judgment to go easy on me. His hands travel up and down my side, electrocuting my nervous system with fire and _want. _I feel my legs buckle under me, his passionate frenzy pushing me over the edge.

Faster, harder, deeper, he presses into me, our tongues now in full combat, battling each other for dominance. My fingers tangled in his hair, his nails digging into my ass, the entirety of this kiss threw me from shy desire to resolved, furious passion.

My head spins, heart thundering. I can literally feel his love in every single motion, every touch. But I pull away, an action that seems to visibly hurt him. I gasp for air – something he seemed to have completely forgotten we needed. His eyes search mine, swallowing everything. I wonder briefly if he can see how flustered I am – I've been kissed before, but _never _like _that. _With heart like that, it's all suddenly very clear to me how I love him in the future.

In a single motion, Dean slides away from me, grabs his duffle bag of guns, and rushes out the door, refusing eye contact with me. The sound of the cabin door slamming echos behind him, leaving me with a very hollow feeling in my gut.


End file.
